


Love is like an Opera Cake

by fujoshism (fancypineapple)



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Magic, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancypineapple/pseuds/fujoshism
Summary: [Originally posted from January 3, 2012 to February 14, 2012]In his new part-time job, Minho meets Jinki, who is not a wizard, but a pâtissier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for my younger sister's birthday back in the good years of 2012. i havent reviewed it before posting, so i warn, its probably poorly written (sp in the grammatical sense considering my english wasnt the best back then). also, please observe that the onho is the main relationship here, and taemin doesnt even show up till the last chapter i think. other than that, enjoy!

The first time Minho met Jinki, he was twelve years old, had bad teeth, awkwardly long limbs and a crush on an older neighbour of his named Byunghee. He knew next to nothing about Byunghee except the fact that he was very handsome, much more handsome than the rest of the boys around his age, and Minho wanted his attention. The supposition that his crush liked sweets had none of fact in it, but Minho accepted it as true because he didn’t really know anyone who _didn’t_ like sweets, which was what led him to enrol in a baking summer course offered by a nearby patisserie.

He, at first, was the only teenage boy in his class; there were two elder man, then four teenage girls, and the rest were old ladies. He was also the only one there without a friend to pair with, which had put him in a bad air about the class until the teacher went in, for with the teacher came inside Jinki. At the time, Jinki was around fourteen. He and Minho were immediately paired up, which initially caused Minho some uneasiness, but it dissipated after he and Jinki introduced themselves to each other and started working together.

Minho was terrible at doing things according to recipes, due to doing everything way too fast; yet, regardless of how bad Minho could be, Jinki was far worse. It was mysterious, the... what should I call it?... plain lack of any kind of sense that Jinki displayed while handling kitchen utensils. He had accidentally splattered butter everywhere, measured sugar as if it were flour, dropped the bag of clovers and spilled the milk over it, not out of mischief but accidentally. Minho felt truly sorry for him. Not to mention that the teacher, a very smiley middle-aged woman who was sweet to every student, corrected Jinki’s mistake in a dry voice, her eyes cold, which intensified Minho’s feeling of pity. He wanted Jinki to smile in a non-apologetic way at least once; that’s why he assured his partner that the cake was delicious, even after tasting and knowing that it was nothing short from terrible, and took the blame after Jinki himself tasted it and accused Minho of lying. They at least had a good laugh, and Minho was filled with hopes of having made a new friend.

That was the last time he saw Jinki at class, though. At first, he was confused and slightly disappointed, thinking that the older one had given up because of last class’ accidents; as the time went by, however, he let the subject go, and eventually forgot about it.

The second time Minho met Jinki, he was eighteen, in high school, and penniless. He had also grown out of the bad teeth, the awkward limbs and the silly juvenile crushes, and was then a very tall, elegant young man who wanted a part-time job that could sponsor his addiction to football. He didn’t know _what_ he wanted to work on, though. Through the years, he hadn’t noticed any kind of special talent of his – none useful for rentable part-time jobs at least – so he’d have to settle for anything he had the littlest ability needed to keep an income, which came down to… being a waiter.

He tried family restaurants, snack bars, fast food chains and etcetera, but it was much harder than it seemed, for it was the job-hunting season for students and every place had had their share of part-timers hired already. Not for a moment did Minho think of giving up, though; he was what people commonly call “thick-headed”, which can also be said as “persistent” in a more delicate context. At last, he found his so sought after job in a small, recently created snack bar called Parasol Days, a place that clearly targeted girls with their light decoration, low-fat snacks, beautiful sweets and handsome staff. Minho couldn’t tell if they had hired him for his looks or not – he was handsome indeed, just not the brightest star in the sky or anything similar – but was thankful nonetheless.

That’s where the tale here told actually begins; the day when Minho met Jinki for the second time – his première in Parasol Days.

Minho looked very good in his uniform, even though it was a bit short around his wrists and shins; since it was in a light colour, peach, he had gotten four changes of it, as it was assured by the manager that he’d change uniforms a lot in the first days. Not a speck of dirt was forgiven, after all; the staff was supposed to look impeccable for the clean and perfect aura to be maintained.

“The first day is never too much fun,” a senior of Minho’s that had apparently took him under his wing revealed while straightening his apron. “I guess you’ll have to just watch for the biggest part of the time. It’s important to know by heart how to serve properly before actually starting, we have a strict policy about this.”

“I see,” Minho nodded, not disappointed but restless. He wanted to work! But it was important to watch if he wanted to keep the so wished for job, so he told himself to calm down. “Excuse me, what may I call you?”

“Call me Kibum,” the senior offered with a charming smile. He was short, skinny, somewhat delicate and had lush, soft dark brown hair. Minho was honestly attracted to him. “If you have anything to ask, ask me. Don’t ask these guys. Cheolyong is confusing and talks too fast. Jonghyun talks too much. Dongwoon is kind of new as well, and he doesn’t pay attention to what we say, so he’s useless,” as he talked, he indicated each one of the referred waiters with his index finger. The one named Dongwoon was discreetly battling with a coffee machine. “Just look at him. Well, you _could_ ask Yoseob, I guess, but he's hyperbolic about everything. Ask me, it’ll be easier.”

“Sure, I will,” Minho guaranteed him with a glad smile. He was happy to have grasped a bit of everyone’s personalities so soon. None of the other workers were as pretty as Kibum, though.

At first, he learned from Kibum the name of their most frequently ordered sweets, as it was indispensable for him to pronounce their names right; none of them had a Korean name. Then, before his shift was over, Jonghyun – apparently the senior of the seniors and some kind of manager – taught him about the general and usually unspoken of rules of the place.

“When writing down an order, always smile with all your charm. Never look sleazy; check your uniform regularly in the staff room’s mirror. Always sound calm and pleased to serve,” Jonghyun recited those so fast that Minho wondered if he could recite them in his sleep. “Don’t chat with other staff during work. Always check the order when you receive it from the kitchen. And the most important rule of all: do not consider anyone else’s advice and only go to the kitchen if it’s a matter of extreme urgency,” he then faced Minho, who tried to look as attentive and obedient as he could. Jonghyun smiled. “You seem like a good kid, Minho. I hope you enjoy working here.”

And his first day of work was soon over.

Out of pure lack of habit, he was the one who took the longer time to undress. Maybe the fact that he was being excessively cautious with the uniform contributed to that as well. The thing is, when he finished changing, there wasn’t a soul in the staff room anymore, nor, as Minho observed when he went out, in the store itself. He had been left alone. Coloured by the setting sun and darkened by the upcoming night, the shop looked eerie and unreal.

“… is anyone here?” Minho called hesitantly, voice surprisingly calm. No answer, only a faint echo of his own voice. Minho bit his lip nervously.

Suddenly, a loud clang disrupted the silence.

Minho jumped, heart almost breaking free from his chest. He glanced around. The sound had come from behind the counter… he faced the said space blankly. Behind the counter, there was the window through which the waiters communicated with the pâtissiers, so the sound had probably come from the kitchen. Minho looked around nervously. Should he go in? Jonghyun had told him to only go there if there was an emergency… but then, that situation _could_ be an emergency. What if something important had fell down? Small accidents in the kitchens could actually cause big trouble, like fires or equipment damage. With that thought in mind, he stepped forward. And by doing so, he invaded the kitchen.

The feeling was shock. In contrast with the clean, pleasant atmosphere of the shop, the kitchen was stuffy and dark. It was in fact so dark that Minho couldn’t see the wall he was supposed to be facing: the only source of light in there was a very dirty, old incandescent lamp that pended from the ceiling precariously by a black wire and casted a yellowish light on the place, swaying back and forth imperceptibly. Minho had the distinct impression that he had just stepped into a horror movie, and was about to get out when he heard another sound – something like a small explosion.

Cold sweat started to cover Minho’s forehead. But then, he thought, it was just the kitchen. Sure, it wasn’t exactly cosy, but it was still just the kitchen. The source of those sounds was probably one of the pâtissiers packing his things, and perhaps he needed help? Judging by the sounds, it seemed so. Full of newfound bravery, Minho raised his voice.

“Is someone there?” his voice echoed menacingly. The answer was pristine silence. It was like Minho could hear the kitchen hold its breath. “I’m coming in…”

And so he did, walking cautiously into the dark part of the place, sure that he’d be engulfed by darkness the moment he stepped out of the lamp’s luminous reach. To his surprise, however, that didn’t happen. The yellowy light illuminated his path, confusing him, since he was sure such an small lamp could not possibly have such a great reach. He walked twenty steps before stopping for a moment and looking up. And there was the old lamp, right above his head! It was as if he had never moved; and yet, when he looked around, he saw new surroundings. Ovens, and counters, and a trash bin just one centimetre away from his feet, none of those were there before. Out of a reason to stay still now that he was there already, he kept on walking.

The more he walked, the colder the air got. It was like going down to an underground cave, and Minho would know, because he had walked down a cave before. His breath condensed in white clouds right before his eyes, and the tip of his fingers began to grown insensitive. Maybe he should go back.

But then, a loud thump of a body falling, followed by the noise of several utensils falling at the same time, and Minho jumped – it had been so close! He turned to the source of the sound, his right, and watched a bowl full of white flour roll down the counter and fall to the floor with a loud, pitiful plop. Minho jumped over the counter, not knowing any other way to get to the other side; it wasn’t a smart choice of his though, for the counter was wet with something – water? Eggs’ whites? – and he slipped gloriously, landing on anything but the floor. His knees hit a wooden spoon, both his hands landed on fallen forks, and his chest hit something slightly soft.

Someone else was fallen on the floor.

Minho blinked. He was unexpectedly looking into another pair of eyes, and from very, very close. What should he do? He then realised that his nose and the stranger’s nose were touching, and their lips were just a hairstrand from touching as well. He backed away, leading one of the forks to pierce the flesh of his palm in the process.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Minho asked, not minding the pain in his hand. The thighs of his jeans where rather wet and dirty from when he had sled on the counter. “Here, let me help you.”

He offered his hand to the person, who accepted it and was easily pulled up from the floor, even by lanky Minho. Then, Minho could analyze the stranger’s face better; the messy brown hair covered in flour, the cheeks covered in specks of butter and sugar, the small, shiny eyes, the pouty and slightly dry lips. They were still holding hands, and, standing so close to the stranger, Minho felt cold no more.

“Thank you,” the stranger whispered, and Minho noticed how close they were. He politely stepped back. “Are you a new kitchen assistant?”

“I’m not, in fact. I’m a new waiter,” Minho corrected him. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to be here, but I was about to go home and I heard a noise, so I decided to come here to see if everything was alright.”

“I see. Thank you,” the stranger bowed, then reached his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Lee Jinki, the current pâtissier in charge.”

“I’m Choi Minho,” Minho shook the man’s hand. “The current newbie at waiting tables.”

“Nice to meet you, Minho,” Jinki smiled, and Minho felt a pang of warmth in his chest.

That smile. Of course. Where had he seen that smile? The smile that made those small eyes disappear and all those perfect teeth pretty much shine white, and that also showed too much gum to be considered “pretty” by some people, but that was still a rather nice smile? Was it from someone that had also said, “nice to meet you, Minho” with enthusiasm? The set of gears that composed Minho’s brain finally clicked in place.

That was how Minho met Jinki again. And that was also how Minho found out, completely by chance, the darkest secret of Parasol Days.


	2. Chapter 2

A fleeting moment of silence was made, during which time seemed to bend for Minho. So it was Jinki! His Jinki, from so many years ago! Minho openly stared at that face. Jinki had changed a lot, except for the shape of his face, slightly round, like an apple; his hair was much longer and had less shiny appearance, and he was much taller and thinner, even though he was still short and sort of chubby. For that one brief moment, Minho wanted to ask him why, why had he never showed up after that day, but then realized Jinki would probably not remember.

“We've met before, have we not?” Minho asked instead, eyes never leaving Jinki’s face. Jinki made a confused face.

“Have we? I’m sorry,” as expected, he didn’t seem to remember. “Your face is not familiar. But don’t mind, I’m sure I’ll end up remembering,” he quickly added, as if afraid that Minho would be offended.

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe I’m mistaken,” Minho brushed off with a smile, sure that he was not. “Anyway, do you need help to clean up?”

“Oh, don’t worry. This—I mean, I can handle this,” Jinki bowed, apparently thankful. “I’m—wait, you’re bleeding?”

Minho blinked, taking a moment to process that. Then, he looked at his injured hand; indeed, he had been bleeding, and rather profusely for such a small wound.

“It seems so,” said Minho smartly.

“Okay, don’t panic. We have to clean it and stop the bleeding,” Jinki was the one who seemed somewhat nervous. “Follow me, quick. But keep calm. Breathe in and then out, slowly.”

Minho didn’t need to. He was actually calm, though he did feel some uneasiness when Jinki started pulling him by the hand into extents of the kitchen yet unexplored – by Minho at least. The lamp was still following them. Minho felt somehow that the lamp had a life on its own. They made a sudden turn around a counter and Minho knocked his knee against a wooden cupboard. He whimpered silently.

“Here, here, give me your hand,” Jinki turned a nearby tap on, spinning it so violently that Minho felt, as strange this might sound, the tap complain. “I’m sorry,” maybe Jinki had felt it as well? Jinki pulled Minho’s injured hand and this time Minho could not hold back a yelp. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry,” now much more carefully, Jinki moved Minho’s hand to under the water. Minho yelped again. The water was hot, practically boiling. “Keep calm, we have to wash the blood off,” the water slowly turned cold.

Minho breathed. Indeed, that was the Lee Jinki he knew; he was all over the place, just like his long forgotten friend. He heard the cluttering sound of a drawer falling on the floor. When he looked to the side, he saw no Jinki, which surprised him slightly. But then, Jinki sprouted from the dark void with a pure white strap of fabric, rough fabric like an apron’s piece, in hands.

“This shall do,” again, his hands were suddenly all over the place, turning the cap off, tying the cloth around Minho’s injured hand, moving something apparently out of place to a drawer before Minho could see what it was. “I’m sorry, um… what’s your name again? I’m sorry.”

“Minho,” was the answer.

“Minho sshi. Right. I’m sorry, I’m not usually that clumsy,” Jinki nodded indicatively. Minho eyed him with doubt. “Today it seems like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize,” Minho reassured him in a warm voice. “Thank you for helping me with this,” he pointed at his own hand.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jinki brushed off with a smile. A great smile, in fact. The sincerity of the smile made something in Minho’s chest tug forward. “It’s the least I could do, is it not?”

Minho didn’t have an answer for that, so, instead of answering, Minho stared. Jinki was actually doing a moderately crafty job at tying the cloth, _and also at looking good_ , was what Minho’s brain shamelessly added. Not that Minho was a stranger to the feeling of being attracted to someone he had barely met, au contraire, it in fact happened more often to him than he’d have wished for, but what made that different was that Minho had never remembered Jinki as a good-looking boy. The years had been kind to him, indeed. Minho tried to look away and ended up staring at the ceiling. The good old lamp was still above them.

“Do you also have the feeling,” Minho commented absent-mindedly. “That this lamp followed us all the way from where you were to here?”

“Huh?” Jinki didn’t look up. “How could it be? But well, I guess the lamps here do look alike, it would seem so.”

 _That’s not what I mean_ , Minho was about to say, but he decided against it. Minho even wondered if there were other lamps in the kitchen, and if yes, why weren’t they on. But then, why not to stop wondering about the lamp? He went back to staring at Jinki. His lips had a very unique shape… maybe that was the secret to that smile? Maybe. Also his hands… where were his hands? Minho looked at his own hand and saw the cloth perfectly knotted. Oh. He faced Jinki. So he had been staring at Jinki for no reason…

“Thank you,” Minho felt slightly dumb.

“Don’t mind, it was nothing,” Jinki smiled again. “Then, Minho sshi—“

“Just Minho is fine,” Minho corrected.

“Oh,” Jinki chuckled. “Okay. Then, Minho, do you happen to know if Jonghyun went home already? I was supposed to have gone home with him but I lingered here for a tad too long. You know Jonghyun, do you not?”

“I do. I suppose he went home already,” Minho said, somewhat hopeful in fact, because he was sure he’d be in trouble if Jonghyun found out he had gone into the kitchen for a non-urgent reason.

“I see…” Jinki sighed for a moment, feeling what Minho supposed to be disappointment. “I should be going soon as well then.”

“Ah, me too,” Minho bowed in an apology. “I apologize for intruding and causing trouble. I shall go now. See you around, Jinki—Jinki sshi.”

“Certainly,” Jinki bowed politely. “See you around, Minho.”

Before going away, Minho looked at that face again. That smile… and then he walked away, with the lamp above his head as always.

 _I am sure that you’re following me_ , his thought targeted the old lamp. It could be Minho’s mind playing tricks on him, but he felt like the lamp shrugged at him. Minho shrugged as well. _Thank you for showing me the way, though_.

He had barely thought the last words of that sentence and a cold gush of wind hit his face violently, which made him stumble dizzily over his own feet. When he fell down, his good hand met cold, freezing tiles, and his eyes met the lamp that swayed back and forth slowly, mocking him. He frowned. Then, a square of blinding light unveiled itself right before Minho’s eyes, and the back of his skull stung.

It was the door, holding itself open. Minho crawled his way out in a very pathetic way, but he could not yet get up as he had momentarily lost his sense of right and left, up and down.

He only recovered his mental functions when the kitchen’s door closed itself with, surprisingly, no noise. Then, he found himself sitting against the front counter of Parasol Days, therefore out of the kitchen. After spending such long minutes in a yellowish environment, Minho found the world much prettier and more colourful than he remembered, and was glad to find out that no one had been there to watch him crawl. Feeling exhausted and thirsty, as if he had run for kilometres in an unknown forest, Minho headed home and fell asleep before dinner time, not even bothering to change into his casual clothes.

He dreamed of the weird kitchen, of the witty old lamp, and of Jinki’s beautiful smile; his first impulse in the morning was assuring himself that it had all been a dream and that he had never gone into Parasol Days’ kitchen. Yet, when he looked at his left hand, he spotted a white cloth skilfully tied around his hand. And, for a reason unknown to himself, he grinned, and remained grinning to himself all the way to school.

At work, he greeted everyone before walking to Kibum.

“Good morning, rookie,” Kibum greeted with a foxy grin and a friendly punch on Minho’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Kibum,” if Minho were to be honest, he still found Kibum good-looking, but if compared to Jinki… “You know… to me, you seem like the guy who’d know anything about this shop.”

“Not at all. That would be Jonghyun, actually,” Kibum corrected him. “I know less than him, but, unlike Jonghyun, I’m willing to share,” he put his hands on his waist proudly. “Why? Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

They then heard Jonghyun calling him out to help with the cleaning; it would be time to open the shop soon.

“There is,” Minho confessed as they walked out of the dressing room. “Whenever we have time, please tell me about Lee Jinki.”

For some reason, Kibum stared at him. He stared at Minho with a surprised and questioning expression, but that at the same time tried to seem casual; at last, Kibum mumbled an ‘okay’. Satisfied with that answer, Minho went to where Jonghyun was to offer his services.

The day was almost as uneventful as the day before; this time, Minho was assigned to open and close the door for the costumers. It was good to be useful at last, but it was a monotonous task, and it frustrated him a little when the costumers didn’t reply to his ‘good afternoon’s. Cheolyong said, when he passed by Minho with a tray and seized the chance to chat a little before Jonghyun saw them, that sometimes the costumers didn’t answer because they were dazzled by Minho’s beauty. Minho didn’t trust Cheolyong’s words much, for he seemed the type to say that kind of thing to everybody.

This time, the afternoon dragged past Minho. When it was finally the end of his shift, he wondered why the sun was still setting, for inside his head was over nine o’clock already. In reality, it was clearly not. It was, however, time to close down, since the shop didn’t stay open at night, and somehow Minho found himself doing the closing tasks alone with Jonghyun. He’d have to admit feeling somewhat fidgety. The idea of having Jonghyun turning around to tell him that he knew about Minho’s invasion from the day before was rather shiver-inducing.

Jonghyun said nothing about that, though. He did talk a lot about other things – about common kinds of costumers that went to the shop, about a waiter from the past that had eloped and had never gotten his last paycheck, about the different types of inner design that the shop had gone through before settling to the one Minho knew, and also about how he himself was hired.

“The good ol’ Grandpa Youngsun was still alive at that time,” Jonghyun told Minho, who hadn't the slightest idea of who Grandpa Youngsun could be. “He was the owner of this shop. Passed away not that long of a time ago. It was a huge loss for everyone who worked here,” Jonghyun was like a sailor; he had the gift of storytelling, and would tell stories until he could no more. “His grandson has taken over the business now. Well, it’s not the same as having the old man around, but what can we do? I’m sure you’d have liked him, Minho,” he unexpectedly added, leading Minho to face him questioningly. Jonghyun smiled. “And he’d have liked you. You’re quiet, polite, learn things fast. The old man liked people like you.”

“Thank you a lot,” Minho bowed gratefully. He was glad that his senior had liked him, specially if that meant he would be forgiven for entering the kitchen without a good reason.

“Well, I shall be going home soon, so you’re free to go as well,” Jonghyun patted his shoulder amicably. “You did well today. See ya’!”

Weirdly, he went into the kitchen. Minho felt nervous. What if Jinki told him about his encounter with Minho? Well, that couldn’t be helped – and just when Minho thought that, a mysterious force dragged him away from the table he had been cleaning and into the staff room.

“Ouch!” Minho objected. The door was closed, and he found the mysterious force to be Kibum’s hand on his collar. Kibum was grinning and, behind him, all their workmates were sitting down and looking at Minho with that same grin in their faces. “… hello.”

“So! You said you wanted to know about Jinki,” Kibum said excitedly, never dropping the grin. “Here we are. No one of us actually knows Jinki, but we all have our own stories. Except for Dongwoon.”

“I don’t know who Jinki is,” Dongwoon scratched his nape, and Minho felt sorry for him. He seemed pretty upset.

“Don’t worry, that shall be fixed,” Kibum reassured him. “I think Yoseob should be the one to start.”

“Then I’ll start!” Yoseob jumped from where he was sitting, but Cheolyong pulled him down violently, causing him to crash back on the floor. Yoseob pouted, the rest of them laughed. “Okay then. It was right after I was hired, on my second week maybe. It was almost time to close, and I heard Jonghyun talk to someone whose voice I didn’t recognize,” he made a dramatic pause. Kibum raised an eyebrow. “It was him, Lee Jinki, the chef.”

“You’re so lame,” Dongwoon accused Yoseob, punching his arm. Yoseob yelped, outraged.

“Well, that’s all I have to tell! I’m sorry if I’m lame!” was Yoseob’s answer, tinged with sulking. “At least I know he’s young. He didn’t sound like an adult. But yeah, that’s all.”

“I also think he’s probably not that old,” Cheolyong added to the conversation, supporting Yoseob with a friendly hand on his shoulder. Yoseob grinned victoriously. “I saw his face once, not very long ago, when I was going home. He looked about our age.”

“You saw his face?” Yoseob and Dongwoon turned interested faces to him. Dongwoon asked too, “What does he look like?”

“He has small eyes,” Cheolyong drew imaginary semi-circles over his own eyelids. “His face is kind of round, and he’s a smiley guy. He seemed friendly.”

Minho grinned at the accurate description.

“Well, I’ve actually talked to him once,” Kibum said, adding his portion to the stories. “It was one day when I got an order that didn’t look like I expected it to. I talked to him through the little window and he explained the sweet’s structure to me. Jinki _is_ friendly, actually. Couldn’t see much of his face though, the kitchen is really dark.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Minho agreed completely, thinking of the old lonely lamp. All glances were directed to him, startling Minho a little. But it was understandable, was it not? It was his turn.

Minho then told everything; how he had gone into the kitchen for thinking that something bad could have been about to happen, and how he had met the pâtissier by chance. He omitted the old lamp and the cold wind from his story, for it’d seem that he was making that up, and also omitted the fact that he had met Jinki six years before, but talked to them about his injured hand and showed them the improvised bandage.

“Ah, I was wondering why your hand was like that,” Kibum nodded thoughtfully.

“I want to meet him too,” Dongwoon complained, sighing.

“You’ll have your chance,” Kibum patted his head. “I just don’t advise anyone to go into the kitchen. I’ve heard a lot of stories about workers that got lost in there, because it’s a mad big place. Also, Jonghyun told us only to go there during emergencies, right?” and Kibum winked at Minho mischievously.

Yes, Jonghyun _had_ said so, but… _but still_ , Minho thought, alone in the staff room, lingering longer than he should have. He wanted to see Jinki again. He wanted to ask to him about how he had gone from a clumsy student to the pâtissier in charge of a shop. He wanted Jinki to tell him the truth about the lamp. He wanted to tell Jinki about his day at school, and ask Jinki how old he was. Minho wondered if there were other pâtissiers, or if Jinki spend the whole day there, alone in the dark kitchen. Minho knew he’d be a great disappointment to Jonghyun if the later ever got to know about what he was about to do, but…

But still, Minho wanted to see Jinki.

He pretended to be about to leave, throwing his bag over his shoulder casually. Again, no one. Could Jonghyun be still in the kitchen…? No, he was probably not. Minho would have to trust his intuition if he really wanted to see the pâtissier, and he’d also have to be firm. So he firmly went to the kitchen instead of exiting the shop, and, once he opened the door, didn’t flinch when his eyes met thick darkness.

No sign of the old lamp. Minho looked around, seeing nothing but black. That probably meant Jonghyun was still there, as the lamp would have followed him, and Minho would have nothing to guide him through the nightmare-ish kitchen. Out of anything else to do, he blindly stepped forward, and shouted in pain when _something_ , something cold and old and somewhat grumpy, pushed him forward, making him fall over his bad hand.

The floor felt wet, and didn’t feel like tiles anymore – it felt like mud, and, for what Minho could see, it _was_ mud. Wait. Minho could see. He looked around, half-expecting to see the lamp there, but what he saw was most definitely not a kitchen. Houses. Weak street lamps. Trees. The night sky. Minho was fallen on a dirt road.

He tried to get up, but the mud was too soft, and he only had time to protect his face with his good hand before falling face first on the road again. Now that he was more aware of the surroundings, he noticed that it was pouring rain, and his hair was already dripping water. How…? Minho tried to remember what he had been doing before getting there. He had gone into Parasol Days’ kitchen. It was dark and… and… he had been pushed forward…

Then how had he gotten there? He looked around once more. What had happened to him? And to top it off, there was no sight of another human being as far as Minho could see. Minho was alone in an unknown road, in the middle of the night, fustigated by a cold storm, and with no idea of how he did he get there, how to go back, what he should do.

“I found him!” Minho heard a distant voice call and immediately looked around again, startled. Someone else! He tried to get up again, but slipped again and fell on his back. In the shadows of the night, something – someone – was running toward Minho. Minho did all he could do: waited.

Unexpectedly, the person was standing right in front of Minho in no time, and close enough for Minho to see it was Jinki. His hair and apron were wet, and he had withered leaves on his shoes. There was also not the slightest shadow of a smile in his lips; he looked nothing but worried. Minho stared at him with eyes wide and his heart full of guilt.

“So there you are,” Jinki said, offering his hand to Minho hold, and the latter did so, covering Jinki’s skin with mud. The pâtissier made a face. “Thankfully you didn’t go far. We’ll be back in no time, but just know that this could have ended in a much worse scenario. Now hold it… there you go.”

Jinki tugged Minho up, unsuccessfully at first. He chuckled, which put Minho’s heart at ease for a fleeting moment, and then pulled again. This time, Minho was jerked up like a bag of bones, wet and muddy and feeling weak, and put up on his wobbly feet. For Jinki’s sake, Minho did his best to stay up and firm, but Jinki held him by the waist nonetheless, guiding to a nearby house that had its door open. They went in.

Instead of seeing the inside of a house, Minho saw the now familiar kitchen; the old lamp above their heads, swaying back and forth, and the tiles on the floor, and the undistinguishable shadow of what could be a counter. Minho felt tired, much more tired than he had felt the day before after leaving the kitchen, and the only thing keeping him up was Jinki’s warm hand on his waist.

“Well,” a bitter, censoring voice boomed above Minho’s head. When had Minho got on his knees? He looked up. “Looks like someone owes us an explanation.”

Who Minho saw looking down at him was Jonghyun, arms crossed and eyes burning with visible anger.


	3. Chapter 3

A moment of pregnant silence was made, and the kitchen itself seemed to be holding its inexistent breath. For a long moment, Minho did nothing but blink, facing Jonghyun in a mix of confusion and fear, and cold too, for he was still drenched in rain and mud. Jinki was still standing by his side, but Minho didn’t dare to break the eye contact between him and his senior. In the end, Minho did the first thing he thought he should do, and that was to bow down properly, still on his knees, and apologize.

“I’m deeply sorry,” he said.

“Explain first,” Jonghyun dismissed his apology, apparently still furious.

“Take it easy, Jong,” Jinki intervened. “It was an accident. You can see by how fast we found him that he didn’t have the intention to—“

“Falling there might have been an accident,” Jonghyun cut his sentence. “But I instruct all of my juniors to only come into the kitchen for urgent matters. I believe there’s nothing urgent happening right now. Or is there, Choi Minho?”

Minho remained bowed. “There’s nothing.”

“Then, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me the reason why you’re here,” Jonghyun demanded coldly.

Minho swallowed nervously. Then what? What should he do? He was about to lose the job he had barely adjusted to – the job that had brought him and Jinki together again after those years. But was lying any good? Was making up some last-minute lie worth it? Minho surrendered. Nothing that he invented could pass as the truth in a situation like that.

“I came here to visit Jinki sshi,” Minho confessed, looking up so he’d tell the story looking into Jonghyun’s eyes. “I know him from some years ago, but we fell out of touch,” more like they had no ‘touch’ at all. “Since I met him again, I was hoping I could talk to him some more.”

Being sincere had always been easier for Minho, even when the truth was silly or embarrassing. He swore he saw Jonghyun’s eye twitch in fury, so he was quick to add. “I’m aware that I broke the rules, and I’ll face the consequences. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help but think that I wanted to talk to him no matter what.”

Jonghyun looked away from Minho for a moment, apparently thinking about the situation. At last, he sighed and put his hands on his waist. “Be aware that you could have caused irremediable damage, not only to the shop but also to yourself, and that I don’t want you breaking the rules just because you feel like again. That being said,” his expression softened as he made a face. “I can’t really blame you for wanting to visit this guy. Just don’t do it anymore, okay? You need some experience to navigate through this kitchen.”

“He managed to find me yesterday, though,” Jinki mumbled, and Jonghyun’s head snapped in his direction like a flash of lighting. He then turned to Minho again, fury renewed.

“You were here yesterday?!” his voice boomed.

“No—I mean—Aah, I’m sorry Minho sshi,” Jinki bowed countless times. “I—well yes, he came to see me yesterday. But it’s because he thought I was in trouble! I was testing a recipe and I dropped a bowl—“

“You dropped something?” Jonghyun narrowed his eyes at the pâtissier, as if it was an impossible thing.

“I was doing it by myself,” Jinki retorted. “So he heard it and came to help me and managed to find me very well. I’m sorry, Minho sshi, I ended up saying things I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay, Jinki sshi,” Minho smiled sincerely at the older man, not wanting him to feel bad. “It would come up sooner or later. It was better to tell now. Thank you.”

Jinki looked down, somewhat embarrassed, and Jonghyun shot a disdainful glance at him.

“Well, the only thing I ask you, Minho sshi,” Jonghyun finally said. “Is for you not to tell about what happened today to your colleagues. You might visit this place now and then if it tickles your fancy, but don’t breathe a word to the others, is what I ask. Also, never step into the dark parts.”

“Understood,” Minho got on his feet so he could properly accept those instructions. “I’ll do as told. Thank you for your comprehension.”

“If only I had comprehended,” Jonghyun shook his head, taking his leave. “But well, what do I know? I’m just an old waiter.”

And he went out through the darkness of the kitchen, leaving Jinki and Minho alone under the yellowish light of the lamp.

“So,” Jinki swayed on his feet, apparently unsure of what to say. “So you do know me from sometime in the past?”

“Yes,” Minho wasn’t disappointed, but he couldn’t help but wish Jinki would remember. “But this is not important right now,” he brushed off. “I still don’t understand well what happened back there. Is it okay if I ask you to explain?”

Jinki stopped moving. He was obviously hesitating, badly, from the way he shifted his eyes to the sides and rubbed his palms together nervously, and Minho felt a dash of disappointment out of that; so he’d end up not knowing anything about that strange street, and how had he end up there? But then, Jinki sighed resignedly.

“Well, it won’t make much difference now,” he sounded a bit unhappy about that. “Wait, follow me, I’m sure we have chairs somewhere here.”

And indeed, they soon found two stools standing beside a counter than shone clean. Minho looked at the surface with curious eyes. Somehow, it felt like the counter was trying to impress him. Again, he was getting those weird feelings from simple objects…

“Yesterday,” Jinki started, not looking directly at Minho, not once. “You mentioned something about the lamp following you, right?”

“I must have,” Minho confessed, still intrigued with the lamp, which swung over their heads nonchalantly.

“And I lied to you saying that we have a lot of lamps who look the same,” Jinki ruffled his own hair in a weirdly endearing gesture of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, that’s not true. We have in fact only one lamp, but it doesn’t follow us. We follow it, even unconsciously. The lamp indicates the right path to get into the kitchen and not… elsewhere.”

Minho frowned, rather confused. Even though it was an idea he himself had put in his head, he wasn’t entirely okay with a moving incandescent lamp that seemed to be connected to the ceiling by nothing but a bunch of precarious cables, let alone it being intelligent and guiding people, _let alone_ the ‘elsewhere’.

“How is it possible to reach elsewhere from this kitchen?” the essential question left his lips before he could think properly about it. Jinki bit his lip, and Minho was distracted by the gesture for a fleeting second.

“This is where it gets a bit tricky,” he said, and Minho leaned his chin on his hands, bracing himself for an interesting story. “For many years, this shop was owned by Lee Youngsun.”

“Jonghyun sshi told me about him,” Minho said, remembering Jonghyun’s words. _You’re quiet, polite, learn things fast. The old man liked people like you_. Minho wondered, sadly, if Jonghyun still thought that the old owner would have liked Minho.

“Lee Youngsun was my grandfather,” Jinki explained. “He was my mother’s father. My mother’s family is traditionally made of pâtissiers, but my grandfather was the first man of the family to become one.”

“Wow,” Minho blinked. “I thought pâtissiers were usually men, but in your family they were all women?”

“Uh, yeah—now, how to explain,” the younger one observed all of Jinki’s nervous gestures. Toying with his own hands; scratching his nape and messing his hair; pressing his lips together. “It’s because most of the women of my mother’s family had a gift that made them excellent at cooking, and it’s a gift more common for women.”

“Humbleness?” Minho suggested, half-joking.

“What? No!” to Minho’s delight, Jinki laughed, and Minho could see how less anxious he looked after that. “No, no. It’s the gift of creation. Men usually have the gift of restoration, but my grandfather was a creator as well. So he decided to become a pâtissier like his relatives, and opened this shop. He didn’t want one of his daughters to take over the shop after him, even though they were all creators as well, because he wanted this shop to be a symbol of pride for the men of his family,” Jinki pointed to his own face. “That’s why I’m here. I’m my grandfather’s only male heir.”

Minho nodded, encouraging Jinki to continue. He still didn’t see how that would lead to the kitchen being… the way it was.

“I was under my mother’s family’s tuition for a long time, learning how to make pastries,” _and in this meantime you met me_ , Minho mentally added. “until last year, when I started working here,” for some reason, a smile graced Jinki’s face, and Minho was holding back a smile before he could notice. “The kitchen used to be really small, and, when my grandfather would teach me to bake his pastries, Jonghyun would try to watch too. Grandpa always shouted, ‘Jonghyun, the pastries will get shy, go outside!’.”

“You knew Jonghyun sshi from back then?” Minho was surprised. Jonghyun was indeed like an old sailor.

“Jonghyun and I are childhood friends,” Jinki explained. “He used to be an apprentice before my grandfather took me in here. He—um, my grandfather wasn’t very sure if I could be a pâtissier someday, so he trained Jonghyun just in case,” the smile vanished from Jinki’s face, leaving a trace of sadness. “I never managed to get anything done right when by myself. If grandpa or Jonghyun weren’t around, it wouldn’t work, even the simplest recipes. When my grandfather became ill, he was deeply worried about the future of the shop, because he didn’t trust me to take over the shop. Not so soon.”

Minho’s chest hurt. Jinki sounded quite disappointed on himself, and that was sad to watch. Worst of all was that, deep inside, Minho found it impossible to disagree with Jinki’s grandfather; if the Jinki he knew was a good example of how he worked in the kitchen, Minho could understand why the old man Youngsun had been rather worried. He just wished Jinki wouldn’t know it as well, and be so hurt by that fact.

“So he created this kitchen a few days before dying,” Jinki went on. “The kitchen how it is now, I mean. It was a very complex task and he was in a hurry and afraid of dying before he could finish it, so some things didn’t go as expected. For example, the place you fell into just then. The rainy night. It’s a residual memory of my grandfather’s. That’s the night my eldest aunt was born.”

And the story stopped there. For a moment, a long moment for it seemed, they just faced each other with straight faces; Minho still listening to a now finished narrative, Jinki looking at him casually as if expecting some reaction. Then, it sunk in.

“Residual memory?” Minho frowned, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. “The night your elder aunt…? Did I travel to the past?” he looked around. “So this kitchen is magic?”

“No, not to the past, to one of my grandfather’s memories,” Jinki quickly corrected. “And I guess you could say that. It’s not like magic we see in the movies, it’s just a creator’s will.”

Minho widened his eyes, looking around in great amazement. “This—this is amazing,” he muttered, eyeing the lamp. It was probably magic as well. So that explained why he felt those weird impressions about it! Perhaps it did have a will of its own. “But why did he do this? It must have been tough.”

“He wanted to keep helping me even after his death,” Jinki explained. “The kitchen prevents me from dropping things or forgetting things in the oven, or mistaking an ingredient for another. It doesn’t talk to me, but it helps me like my grandfather used to.”

Minho nodded, impressed. “It’s ingenious,” he looked around again, and felt a pleased feeling coming from above. He looked at the lamp, smiling. “I’m sorry if this sounds weird, but I since I came here yesterday I’ve had a feeling that the objects… I don’t know, it’s like they have a mind of their own. It makes a lot more of sense now.”

“Oh,” Jinki chuckled. “You’re a really sensitive person. Ah, Minho sshi,” he quickly added. “I’m sorry for asking this, but you told Jonghyun that we know each other from some years ago. Where did we meet in the past?”

That again. Indeed, there was no way Jinki would remember that… Minho himself didn’t know why he still remembered. It had been nothing but one day, one day when they baked a disastrous cake together, and then Jinki left. Then why…?

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Minho said, choosing to look at the floor instead of looking at Jinki. “We met by chance one day six years ago.”

Jinki tilted his head to the side questioningly. “So… did you want to talk to me about something in special?”

Minho faced him with confusion for a good minute. Then, he realized – he was being inquired about his reason to be in the kitchen.

“Ah… you see,” it was embarrassing to admit it, but Minho had no choice. “I just wanted to see you again. Meeting you again after six years was really surprising, and it’d be good to talk to you like I wished to at that time,” oh, perhaps he had said too much. “I’m happy I got to hear your story, and I promise not to tell anyone about it,” he then looked at his watch, but it was covered in hardened mud. He pretended to see through it. “Ah, it’s late. I should probably go home.”

“I understand. Please sleep a lot,” Jinki stood up from his stool, reaching for Minho’s cheek and removing some mud from under his eye. Minho froze. “The first days I spent in here really wore me out, and it was the same with Jonghyun, so I assume it’s a side effect or something.”

“Um, sure,” Minho didn’t remember to mention that he _did_ feel dead tired on the day before. “I’m off then. See you tomorrow, Jinki sshi.”

“Bye bye, Minho sshi,” Jinki waved, smiling.

“Just Minho, Jinki sshi,” Minho’s smile was somewhat awkward.

“Ah yes,” Jinki chuckled at himself, and Minho’s chest fluttered. “Bye, Minho. Rest well, okay?”

Minho merely bowed and left, unable of saying anything else. Breathing was weirdly hard, and his knees felt wobbly as he walked away – following the lamp, now he knew – searching for the door. The kitchen seemed so bigger than before! It was like he was walking in an endless path. He hadn’t noticed how tired he was while Jinki told his story, but now it hit him like a brick wall. It felt like he was about to collapse right then and there, but he knew he could absolutely not give into that feeling, for only God and Jinki’s late grandfather knew what could happen if he lost his senses and somehow got tangled in the so called residual memories. Minho managed to get out of the kitchen by sheer willpower.

And from then on he remembered pretty much nothing about that day.

 

He woke up on his bed, in the following day’s morning, with his mother watching over him with worried eyes. He blinked slowly, unaware of the reason of her worry.

“Oh, Minho,” she said. “You’re up at last. Next time you feel ill, please call me! I was so worried!”

“What happened?” Minho asked in a low, sluggish voice.

“You passed out at work. Some colleagues of yours brought called me,” she said, shaking her head. “Son, don’t you think you’re overworking yourself? You study so much for school, and now with this part-time job…”

“Don’t worry, mom,” Minho brushed it off. “I didn’t sleep well last night, so I was really tired, but I’ll be fine today.”

His mother shot him a look that was pure disapproval. Minho just hoped she wouldn’t make him quite.

“Well, if you pass out again at work, I’ll have to do something. Take it easy on yourself,” she said simply, turning around to leave the room. “Oh, and I washed your uniform. You should probably take a shower, you’re covered in dirt. I assumed you passed out on the streets, which is something I don’t really want to believe.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Minho suggested as a joke.

“Yeah, okay. You’ll be skipping school today,” was the last thing she said before going out.

Minho did as told, not feeling particular happy about it, but not at all regretful, as a day off from school was never a bad thing. After taking a bath, he helped his mother out with chores, vacuuming the living room’s floor and cooking rice as she prepared lunch. She was displeased when Minho told her that he’d go to work that afternoon.

“If you feel tired, call me immediately,” she said, seasoning the meat a bit violently. “Or else…”

He didn’t take her threat much seriously, for he knew the previous day’s accident wouldn’t happen again.

When he arrived at work that afternoon, Jonghyun was at the door. It seemed like he had been waiting for Minho, judging from how he immediately walked to the younger boy when he arrived.

“How are you today?” he asked in a paternal voice, apparently leaving the episode from the day before lay forgotten. Minho smiled at his senior.

“I’m perfectly fine, Jonghyun sshi. Thank you,” Minho made a small bow. “Were it you, the one who called my mother?”

“Yes. I couldn’t wake you up no matter what, so I thought it’d be better to phone her up,” Jonghyun opened the door for them to go in. “It was the kitchen, right? It must have been tough. Another reason why I didn’t want you taking walks in there.”

“Thank you for helping me, and I’m sorry,” Minho lowered his head humbly. “It seems like I’ve caused you a lot of trouble already.”

“Don’t worry about it. You better work hard from now on, though,” Jonghyun said, grinning. “And it was nice of you, wanting to visit Jinki. He doesn’t have many friends, that guy. It worries me a tad from times to times.”

“Then, is it okay for me to go to the kitchen everyday from now on?” Minho asked before he could think about it properly, eyes glimmering with hope. Jonghyun glared at him, punching his shoulder friendly.

“Don’t get too carried away, you,” he scolded. “Go get ready, we’ll open the shop in a minute. Kibum is all jittery waiting for you. He was the one who found you yesterday.”

And he walked away, letting Minho go to the staff room alone. As soon as he went in, all heads snapped toward him, including Dongwoon’s, stuck midway out his uniform.

“Minho! Goodness gracious, you’re alive,” Yoseob had his hand over his heart, expressing relief. “Kibum was getting all of us freaked out. ‘Oh my God, what if he’s in the hospital? What if he has a terminal disease? Oh my God _what if he never wakes up_ —”

“Yah! It wasn’t like that at all!!” Kibum’s cheeks were colored in deep red.

“It was, though,” Cheolyong teased.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Kibum sshi,” Minho grinned cheekily at his workmate. “And if this makes you feel better, I have no terminal diseases that I know of.”

“You all,” Kibum made an ample gesture that included everyone. “are the worst. Seriously. I hate you guys so much. You too, Minho.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho said insincerely, mid-laughter.

“What are you people laughing about in there?” Jonghyun’s voice shouted from outside. “It’s still business day! Come help me to get this working!”

“Yes, sir!” Cheolyong shouted back as Kibum rolled his eyes. One by one, they went out, Cheolyong helping Dongwoon to fix his uniforms’ collar as they walked. The last one to leave, right before Minho who still had to change, was Kibum.

“So,” Kibum started as Minho pulled the white shirt over his head. “What happened yesterday? Jonghyun and I kind of freaked out when you just flopped onto the floor and didn’t get up.”

“Ah,” now, what should Minho say? “I, um…”

“Don’t you make up an excuse! I’m seeing right through you right now!” Kibum objected, crossing his arms angrily.

“I’m sorry, Kibum sshi,” Minho said at last, making an apologetic face at Kibum. “I can’t tell you. But it wasn’t anything serious. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.”

Kibum clicked his tongue, upset. Just as Minho was about to apologize again, his expression shifted and he inched closer to Minho. “Putting that aside,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I saw you coming out from the kitchen yesterday. What were you doing there?”

“Ah,” Minho cleaned his throat uneasily, remembering about Jinki. “I went there to see Jinki sshi again.”

“You sneaky little minx,” Kibum shook his head, pinching Minho’s cheek rather strongly. “What if Jonghyun catches you, huh? You’ll still be this store’s ace someday, you know. You can’t let yourself be fired now.”

“He actually caught me yesterday,” Minho made a face. “And he scolded me pretty bad. I was glad that he didn’t fire me.”

“Wait. Wait. What are you even saying?” Kibum interrupted him, eyes wide. “No, hold up. You know what? After the shift, there’ll be another meeting. You’ll tell everything. Everything you can tell, at least. You managed to do in two days what none of us have managed to do in at least _one year_ , which is getting to Jonghyun's good side..”

Minho nodded vaguely, looking at his reflection in the mirror to fix his hair as Kibum told him something about the time he had been hired. He then remembered how Jinki had cleaned some mud off from his cheek and touched the spot with his fingertips. At that moment, his heart was beating so fast… even when Jinki merely smiled or talked or even just looked at him, Minho couldn’t stay put. His heartstrings responded to even the smallest thing.

“—he hit my head with a tray! Would _you_ do that to a newcomer? I—”

“Kibum sshi, I think I—”

“Hm?” Kibum stopped his own rant to listen. Minho closed his eyes, feeling pathetic.

“Nevermind,” he said.

“Store it for the meeting. Then you can let your heart out,” Kibum patted his shoulder in a friendly way. “Now let’s hurry before Jonghyun commits any act of violence against us. He’s surprisingly strong.”

 

It was Minho’s first day of waiting tables. The idea of interacting with the customers for the first time made him nervous, but everyone seemed to have a different piece of advice to give him, reaching a point when everyone was talking at the same time and Minho couldn’t understand a word

“Be as polite as you can be, and some more,” Jonghyun wisely said.

“Flirt,” Cheolyong suggested, grinning.

“Don’t flirt,” Dongwoon had counter-attacked, glaring at Cheolyong. “You can get in deep trouble if you flirt with the wrong girl. Believe me.”

“Don’t flirt, but be gallant to the point that the girls will fall for you,” Yoseob corrected and summarized their suggestions.

“Have an idiosyncratic attitude that the customers will remember. This way, you’ll get regulars,” Kibum advised expertly.

It went on and on until the first customers arrived, and the business officially started.

During the day, Minho served few tables, and all of them were composed by teenage girls in high school uniforms. There was an unspoken division among them when it was about the clients; Cheolyong was usually responsible for the younger girls, elementary school students, while Yoseob got the male customers and tables with couples. When there were elderly people, usually Kibum was the one called, and Dongwoon merely shared the highschoolers with Minho. It was surprising to see how well that worked, and Minho felt less anxious about his actual first day.

“A spicy vanilla cheesecake, a blueberry muffin and three strawberry milk sodas,” Minho talked to the small window timidly, unable to do it in a loud voice like the others did. An ‘okay!’ came from inside, and Minho realized – it was Jinki, it could be no one but Jinki.

“Minho sshi!” unexpectedly, Jinki’s luminous face popped up at the window, very close to where Minho’s face was; too close even, and Minho’s heart thumped violently. “Good afternoon! I’m so relieved to see you here. Jonghyun told me you passed out yesterday, are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Minho’s cheeks grew warm. “It was nothing, don’t worry.”

Jinki pouted in some sort of disapproval. “You shouldn’t come inside again. What could have happened if you had collapsed on the street? Yesterday was really dangerous.”

“I think I should go there more often so I’ll get used to it,” Minho retorted sort of childishly, and Jinki laughed.

“Silly child,” the older man said jokingly, shaking his head. “Ah, let’s see, let’s see. Spicy vanilla cheesecake, three strawberry milk sodas… blueberry muffin?” Jinki asked Minho, in doubt.

“Exactly,” Minho flashed him his brightest smile. “Make them with love, one of the girls is anxious about her upcoming tennis match.”

“Everything I make, I make with love,” Jinki said, winking exaggeratedly. “They’ll be ready in a minute!”

And the pâtissier disappeared into the dark kitchen. This short exchange was the only significant piece of dialogue that Minho held with Jinki that day, but it was enough to fill his head in endless loop for the whole shift. So Minho really liked Jinki that much… enough to become so silly for such a small thing. Yet, was there anyone that could stay inaltered to that goofy wink? Or was Minho just too affected? As always, Minho had feelings he didn’t know how to deal with.

This time, the shift seemed to fly, as Minho kept himself so busy that he didn’t have time to watch the clock. His workmates finished the cleaning with cunning speed, practically dragging him to the staff room as soon as Jonghyun dismissed them. It was obviously time for Minho to spill the beans.

“So,” Kibum said simply, and it was Minho’s cue.

Minho told them a slightly altered version of the story, omitting his landing on the residual memory and Jinki’s story altogether. He did tell them that he got caught by Jonghyun, yes, and that Jinki had talked to him about his family, and then used again the excuse of lack of sleep on the night before for his fainting episode. He watched as Yoseob’s eyes grew wider and wider, and saw the way Cheolyong curved forward to hear his words better. When he finished it, silence was made for a long moment.

“The more I hear about it,” Kibum was the first one to talk, shaking his head. “The more shocked I am.”

“Seriously, Minho sshi,” Yoseob sounded excited like no other. “You’re a national hero. They’ll write books about you.”

“Ok, it’s not _that_ impossible,” Kibum made a face at his colleague. “But it’s amazing. Jonghyun really likes you. That’s a compliment, by the way.”

“Um, thank you,” Minho hoped that what Kibum was saying was true, because he did have the intention to sneak into the kitchen again.

“Guys, stop that. This is no good,” instead of impressed or excited like the others, Dongwoon had his arms crossed and expressed deep worry. “How can this work? We have to change something.”

Everyone looked at Dongwoon with different sorts of puzzled eyes. A second, and then Cheolyong objected, “yah, will you at least explain?”

“Jinki sshi never comes out, and Minho sshi is forbidden to come in,” Dongwoon pointed out. “Even through the order window, nothing will begin. What could be the solution? I really don’t see one.”

“Solution for _what_?” Yoseob frowned so deeply that it was painful to watch. “I don’t get you at all. Are you talking in your own language?”

“What is supposed to begin?” Cheolyong added, also confused. Dongwoon glanced at both of them in surprise.

“I thought we all had assumed Minho sshi likes Jinki sshi…” Dongwoon admitted, also becoming confused. Minho blinked. “Did I get it wrong?”

“What?!” Kibum and Yoseob exclaimed at the same time as Cheolyong burst in laughter. Minho watched the reaction in with slight sadness.

“You’re actually right,” Minho admitted, but his words were partially drowned by Cheolyong’s laughter. “I think I really like Jinki sshi.”

It all halted still. Cheolyong stopped midway a barrel roll of hysteria. Yoseob and Kibum stared at him with an indescribable expression of surprise. Dongwoon merely nodded, happy to be right.

“Then, what should we do?” Dongwoon asked, now assured that they all knew what the question was about.

“It’s all good, actually,” Minho dismissed it, avoiding eye contact with any of them; he was a tad bit embarrassed. “If I keep going to the kitchen everyday, we might become closer.”

“If you keep going to the kitchen everyday, you might become closer to being _fired_ ,” Yoseob stated, squinting his eyes dramatically at the word _fired_. “Jonghyun hyung has short temper, you know. Next time he sees you might make him explode!”

“It's really not that bad...” Cheolyong chuckled at Yoseob’s theatricality.

“Ah. Wait,” Kibum suddenly commanded. “I have an idea.”

From then on, this tale picks up a rather frenzied pace.


	4. Chapter 4

“As you might know already,” Kibum announced to the world – the piece of the world that had gathered around him to hear what he had to say, at least – full of authority. “Soon it will be Valentine’s.”

Minho had no idea. As his school life had never been filled with dating and liking people and all that jazz, he had never learned when Valentine’s Day was, so having it announced like that actually startled him a tad. The rest of the world, however, just scoffed. At that moment, the rest of the world was composed of Minho’s workmates.

“Oh, really?” Yoseob widened his eyes dramatically. “God. I had no idea.”

“Shut up, you,” all the others smacked his head simultaneously.

“Having this big event in sight,” Kibum carried on as if nothing had happened. “I think we, from the afternoon shift, should plan something special to attract customers. I have some suggestions for this.”

He then proceeded to explain. In order to attract high school couples, they would undo the morning shift’s flashy decoration (“How can you assume already that it’s flashy?” Jonghyun had objected. “’Flashy’ is the only word that describes those morning shift guys,” Kibum had retorted, with massive approval from the other three) and put on a more discreet one, so the boys wouldn’t be too embarrassed; they should not forget to appeal to the girls, however. To achieve that perfect balance, Kibum had what he called a ‘trumph’.

“Ta-da!” he pulled out a cardboard that had been in his backpack since then. “This is my masterpiece: the Valentine’s Palace!”

On the cardboard was drawn not a cake, but a tall structure coloured in baby pink and soft golden. Taking a better look, Minho noticed that the structure was a delicately designed display for all sorts of things; cake slices, cupcakes, cookies, éclairs, mousses, flans, meringues, macarons, everything drawn in great detail.

“Wow,” Jonghyun nodded, impressed. “This looks neat, Kibum. You’re pretty good at this.”

“Thank you,” Kibum smiled proudly.

“Mm, it looks pretty good,” Cheolyong said dreamily, admiring the sketch. “Will we transfer the stuff from the counter to this?”

“So, about this,” Kibum pointed to the sketch again. “I thought about that, but then, this would be nothing but just a pretty display, right? If possible, I’d like to put the promotional recipes here instead of having them made by demand.”

Everyone turned his heads to Jonghyun, who was frowning thoughtfully at that. Jonghyun was the one who called the shots when it came to the shop’s structural welfare.

“Indeed,” he finally spoke out. “We have been putting up promotional recipes for some time now, and I guess we can calculate the amount pretty well. This display has the upside of visual stimulus, so I guess this could work,” he paused, nodding to himself. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

For some reason, everyone shouted in victory and started jumping around and dancing, and Minho tried to join, but he didn’t quite catch the flow and ended up just watching and laughing. Eventually, the burst of excitement died down and Kibum was back to explain the final part of his plan: the division of the tasks.

“I think Jonghyun and I should buy the actual display, since we’re the only competent people for such,” Kibum said, glaring at Yoseob for some unspoken reason. Yoseob pretended not to pay attention. “Then, Yoseob should draw the posters, and Dongwoon and Cheolyong should set the rest of the decoration up,” he smiled. “So?”

“What about Minho?” Jonghyun promptly asked, crossing his arms confused. Kibum blinked, glancing at Minho.

“Oh. Oh, of course. I’m sorry Minho, I forgot about you,” Kibum said apologetically, going through his list of tasks. Minho wondered, not offended but curious about how had Kibum forgotten about him, considering that they met at work five days per week. “Minho could—um—AH! Minho can help in the kitchen.”

Ah. So Kibum hadn’t forgotten about him, after all. Minho’s face lightened up in a smile. “Okay.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jonghyun interrupted the whole thing, obviously suspicious. Kibum blinked. “Why?”

“… there’s nothing else for him to do,” Kibum shook the task list weakly.

“If that’s so, _I_ should help in the kitchen,” Jonghyun retorted, eyeing Kibum with suspicion at the max. “Since I worked there for some time.”

“But Minho sshi actually took pastry-making classes,” Dongwoon interrupted the discussion calmly. “It wouldn’t be a complete loss. I don’t know if he’d be able to do as good as you on building the display, though, hyung,” was what he said, and Minho blinked dumbly at him. How did Dongwoon know?

“Is this true?” Jonghyun asked Minho.

“It is,” Minho answered, disguising his surprise. “I took classes with Jinki sshi, six years ago.”

When all the eyes in the room snapped towards him, Minho realized he shouldn’t have told them, for it sounded too absurd to be believable. The silence made was full of blinking and inner fidgeting from Minho, but thankfully that moment was interrupted by Jonghyun.

“Summer classes at Angel's Fingers?” was what he asked, and Minho’s fidgeting got worse for a moment.

“It used to be near the Daljong Daycare, a street away from a small gallery,” Minho said, hoping he had remembered those well. Giving Jonghyun the wrong directions at that point could be fatal! And yet, Jonghyun nodded vigorously, apparently approving of that answer.

“So that was what you meant when you said you knew him from before,” he said, and Minho had a feeling that the whole world – again I clarify, the piece of the world that had gathered around Kibum to hear what he had to say – was focusing on him with intensity. “Then I’ll count on you, Minho. And as much as I’d love to discuss this further,” Jonghyun changed the subject, looking at his watch. “We have five minutes to clean this place and open it.”

Chaos ensued as they all ran to the staff room to get dressed.

 

“I had no idea you had met Jinki sshi before,” was what Dongwoon said when he found time to chat with Minho in-between serving tables. Minho was about to inform Jinki about an order of two mont blanc cakes and a strawberry mousse. “I was making that up. It went better than expected at the end.”

“It did. I was wondering how did you know about that,” Minho confessed in whispers, and they grinned. The grins somehow morphed to chuckles, which they soon had to hold back or someone would notice they were chatting (someone being Jonghyun). “Thank you for being so quick-witted.”

Dongwoon shrugged bashfully, looking down with a proud smile. “I couldn’t let Kibum’s plan fail like that.”

And he quickly went away, for he noticed Jonghyun nearby. Discreetly waving his friend goodbye, Minho turned back to his current task, turning to the small window.

“Jinki sshi,” he called out. “Two mont blanc cakes and a strawberry mousse, please.”

“Right away!” he heard Jinki’s voice as usually. When he was about to go away, however, Jinki’s voice called again. “Minho sshi.”

“Yes?” Minho spun on his heels and approached the window again, starting to give up on getting Jinki to call him just ‘Minho’.

“Jonghyun told me about the Valentine’s Day project,” Jinki rarely showed up at the window, but Minho still had to get used to talking with a dark void. “Can we meet today?”

“Yes!” Minho didn’t even try to hide his excitement.

“Not in the kitchen, though,” Jinki was quick to add. “Wait for me outside.”

“Yes, sir,” Minho obediently said, and waited till Jinki’s chuckles disappeared into the shady kitchen to skip—walk away.

Minho became popular that day, for nothing could erase the sincerely happy smile from his face.

 

After everyone went home – even Jonghyun, who refused to leave before receiving reassurance that the meeting wouldn’t take place in the kitchen – Minho waited for Jinki dutifully, watching the sun become gentler and eventually start to set. Jinki was taking so long… Minho wanted to see the older man soon, but had been emphatically forbidden of going into the kitchen, so he could do nothing but to wait and wait.

That was before he heard the loud clang of kitchen objects falling to the floor, of course.

Minho was running into the kitchen before he could think about it; so his brain had only been waiting for a reason, huh? As always, he ran with the lamp above his head, searching for the pâtissier in the mysterious kitchen.

He didn’t fail to notice that something was wrong, however. The lamp’s light was weaker than ever, barely illuminating the tiled floor, and something he noticed once he slowed down from running to walking – the whole kitchen was terribly cold, almost as cold as it was outside, wich was positively abnormal. Minho shivered, startled to see his breath condensing in clouds before his nose. He needed to find Jinki soon, and, if possible, take him somewhere else.

Then, without prior warning, the lamp went off. Next thing Minho knew, he was stepping into the thick darkness of ‘elsewhere’, and didn’t manage to stop himself before it was too late.

He fell on his knees, toppling over a school bag that hit him painfully on his ribs. He yelped, rolling on the floor (cold tiles, white), trying to get over the pain, eventually lying down calmly on the floor whimpering soft ‘ouch’s. Who had left a school bag at a place like that? He clicked his tongue.

“Good lord, Jinki, stop whining,” a rough voice boomed across the room, startling Minho so greatly that he sat up. “Are you listening to my instructions? Last time, you mistook the flour for the sugar and whatever come out definitely wasn’t a chiffon cake, so pay attention this time!”

Minho blinked, looking around. He was in a kitchen, but that was definitely not Parasol Days’ kitchen; this kitchen was clean and well-illuminated, it had windows and was somewhat small. At a counter, one of the three that crossed the kitchen horizontally, there was a tall man with his back turned to Minho, dressed in nothing but stark white. It was rather intimidating, specially considered that that man had just shouted and sounded quite pissed off.

“You’re helpless, are you not?” the man huffed, landing his hands on the counter heavily before exhaling loudly. “I heard from your aunt how you did on class today. Pitiful, Jinki. Absolutely pitiful. You’ll be taking private classes from now on. I won’t allow you to depend on someone else when you are the one who wants to become a pâtissier.”

“But grandpa!” the voice of a child shouted, whining – a chill went up Minho’s spine, _there was no child in the room_. “This won’t happen again! I promise I'm going to…”

The voice slowly faded away, like mist, until it was a sound so distant that could be mistaken by the howling of the wind, and the room became dark. It was probably just a cloud obstructing the sun, Minho thought, aware that none of that was real; it was all part of Lee Youngsun’s residual memories. Or it could be something spookier… getting on his feet, Minho walked toward the man, hoping that he wouldn’t be seen or heard – he wasn’t a part of the memory after all.

And yet, he still did his best to still a scream when he saw the man’s face. It was immobile, like a statue’s, and growing older by the second right before Minho’s eyes – he could see every wrinkle forming, the skin turning loose around the bones, the hair growing white, the eyes turning blue and matte (blind, Lee Youngsun had been _blind_ ), and in a minute the then intimidating man had become as old as eighty, ninety years old.

“I did some things to Jinki that I regret,” the old man said in a rough, pitifully small voice. Minho was afraid he could run out of breath and suffocate while talking. “He’s… he’s just a kid. He took after his father… untalented, but eager to please.”

The old Lee Youngsun coughed intensely, which made Minho’s worry grow; he almost reached for him, right before remembering that all that was an illusion. Feeling the counter blindly with his bony, fragile hands, Youngsun eventually found a drawer, from which he clumsily pulled out a heavy, apparently old book. He dropped it soundly, not making an effort to pick it up, only sighing tiredly.

“This is something I want Jinki to have,” he muttered, lowering his head. “Even the fairest creations don’t last forever. This… a book… a book will last much more than,” he shakily raised his hand and indicated the room with a gesture. “this whole mess.”

Minho blinked, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the fallen book. Of course, it was a silly guess, but – but then, his fingers wrapped around the cold leather edges, as solid as they could be. In his shock, Minho almost dropped the object again, but managed to contain himself and hold it against his chest.

“Get the book,” Youngsun instructed weakly, and Minho looked at the object snuggled against his shirt before nodding dumbly. “Then go out through the door in my left, and wait for the corridor’s light to go on. Go downstairs, and you’ll be back. Give this to Jinki. Unless you are Jinki,” he made a pause. “In case… in case you are Jinki, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho was caught up in the moment, and reached his hand forward to comfort the elder man – but yet he couldn’t reach his shoulder, as if it were miles away. His fingers felt nothing but air. “I’ll go now.”

And so he did, walking around the counters with the book firmly in hands, reaching the said door in no time. He halted still with his hand on the doorknob, however, looking around one last time. The memory had been talking to him all that time… it wasn’t a careless mistake, it didn’t feel like one.

“And if,” Youngsun raised his voice weakly one last time, making great effort. “And if you’re Jonghyun… never forget what I told you that day. Whatever you do… never forget that.”

But Minho was not Jonghyun, and he had no idea of what Youngsun said, so he automatically answered, “I’ll tell him not to.”

Then, realizing what he was doing made no sense, Minho followed Youngsun’s instructions and went out, closing the door softly and shutting himself into pure darkness. Was he back to the kitchen already? He had to wait for the lamp to go on, however, and he did wait for almost five minutes until weak, yellowish light illuminated the narrow, wooden hallway from above. It was The Lamp.

Walking with certain difficulty through a space so narrow, Minho crossed the hallway and went down the fly of stairs as it had been told him to, taking care not to trip on the scarcely illuminated steps. It became cold again, which probably signalized he was getting nearer to the kitchen – it could also be a sign that Minho had taken the wrong path, but he opted for the optimist scenario at the occasion. His beliefs were thankfully proven to be right, as he soon started to recognize the vicinities as the kitchen’s counters, even under the pitiful light of the tired lamp. Under that same pitiful light, he was also to recognize, when he looked at the floor, a heap of overturned bowls and fallen mixers, all covered in a weird, thick beige substance. _Jinki_. He had to find Jinki.

It’s hard to tell if he found Jinki or if Jinki found him, because, in nothing but seconds after he thought that, he unexpectedly collided with the one he sought, and rather violently. Minho’s already injured rib was hit once again, this time by one of Jinki’s elbows, and Minho heard the older man yelp in pain for having his chin accidentally punched.

“I’m sorry,” Minho reflexively apologized, holding Jinki’s shoulder so to regain his balance. He ended up holding the pâtissier closer than he had intended to, which triggered an increase in his heartbeat, but luckily – luckily? – the moment didn’t last.

“Oh Minho, you’re here,” Jinki hugged tight, tight enough for Minho’s rib to ache again, and more than tight enough for Jinki to feel Minho’s ridiculously fast heartbeat. No, that wasn’t any good! “I just revisited seven different birthdays of mine searching for you! I was so afraid you’d end up stuck in my grandfather’s memories forever. He lived for almost ninety years, you know!”

“I guess I stumbled across the right memory then,” Minho said, relieved for being released from the hug. “He gave me directions to come back to the kitchen.”

Jinki frowned. “What do you mean?” his frown deepened gradually, to depths before unknown by Minho. “Wait, what do you mean? Grandpa’s memory talked to you?”

“Sort of. He knew he was talking to someone, but not me,” Minho refrained from telling the sordid details. “He gave me directions and told me things. And he gave me this.”

Minho held out the book, noticing a shallow dent where his thumb had been. Perhaps he had gripped at it with too much strength… Jinki hesitated severely before accepting the book, looking at Minho for confirmation and only reacting at Minho’s encouraging nod. He opened the book carefully, as if afraid to see what was written there, and Minho watched as the frown slowly dissolved in an unreadable expression.

“This,” and then Minho started to panic, because Jinki’s eyes were filled to the brim with shiny tears, and his voice was shaking. “This is my grandfather’s personal book of recipes.”

“He told me to give this to you,” Minho explained, trying to think of anything that would stop Jinki from crying. “It was in a drawer. I don’t understand it very well, but I think he might have created that memory on purpose.”

Jinki nodded, still admiring the book with teary eyes. “He knew this would happen then,” he muttered. Then, in a louder voice, he explained. “This kitchen’s present reality is wearing off. I think it’ll disappear completely soon.”

The pieces clicked in place. Ah. So that explained it. _A book will last much more than this whole mess_. Lee Youngsun knew his creation wasn’t eternal, and had created a memory in which he gave his book to someone, long before he knew who would get it. So the residual memories weren’t residual at all? Minho’s head started spinning. How was it possible that the book was palpable if it was fruit of a memory? And what about those stairs? If the creation wore off, would it be as if Lee Youngsun were dying for the second time?

“So that’s why everything is on the floor,” was the only conclusion Minho was able to draw from all that mess. Jinki nodded, a note of bitterness colouring his cheeks.

“It still works during the business hours, but afterwards it’s just,” he made an indicative hand gesture, frustrated. “I was going to get the mop when I noticed you got lost, so I went after you. But you really did stumble across the right memory,” Jinki added, caressing the corners of the book with his thumb.

“Do you want me to help?” Minho promptly offered, grinning. “At cleaning, I mean.”

“You really don’t need to,” Jinki brushed off, and Minho noticed when he caught a glimpse of his sleeve: Jinki’s apron was stained with the unidentified mix he had been making. “But I guess I could use some help, after all. I might cause a bigger mess if I try to clean this by myself.”

He sounded bitter about it, and Minho felt sorry for him. That was probably not true; perhaps, Jinki’s lack of trust in himself had more influence over those accidents than his natural clumsiness, but Minho couldn’t tell. It wasn’t as if he knew a lot about the older man, Minho realized pitifully. And to think he wanted to be the one to know the most about Jinki, the one to know exactly what to say to cheer him up at times like those… well, that was a pathetic start for Minho, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. Maybe, if he had courage and perseverance in love, he’d be able to give courage and perseverance to Jinki in cooking.

While they searched for the mop, the lamp flickered menacingly above their heads, so Minho instinctively reached out to hold Jinki’s elbow, but Jinki had been keener and reached straightforwardly for Minho’s hand, holding it firmly without a verbal explanation. It made Minho’s heart skip not one but several beats, even though he knew well the gesture was meant for them not to get lost apart from each other – and yet, Jinki’s warmth was melting Minho from inside. That _hurt_ , honestly, but Minho liked that kind of pain, and wouldn’t mind feeling it more often from then on. He also wondered when had he become so idiotic and cheesy for a reason so mundane.

Cleaning the upset mixing from the floor shouldn’t have been that hard, but it turned out to be so thanks to the poor illumination. Minho had taken over the task of washing the objects, while Jinki cleaned up the floor. So there was a sink there… Minho couldn’t tell if he had never seen the sink or if it really had never been there. Or if he had, in fact, seen it and just didn’t remember. The kitchen was too mysterious for him to know for sure.

“What were you trying to make?” Minho asked, analyzing the substance on the mixer with curiosity.

“A cake. An experimental cake,” Jinki explained, rubbing the floor vigorously. “I was thinking of adding it to this years promotional treats, and was planning to bake you a sample. Well, it turned out like this,” he added, still upset.

Minho smiled fondly at the mixer. “I’m sure it’d have turned out great.”

“If it had turned out to be something,” Jinki, if anything, sounded even more negative. “Yeah, I guess.”

Disappointed at his own failure at cheering Jinki up, Minho sighed. He really should try a bit harder… then he asked, “What are the promotional treats? I forgot to ask around earlier.”

“Hm, if I remember well,” Jinki answered thoughtfully. “Swiss éclair, dark chocolate mousse, chocolate parfait deluxe – it has four different types of chocolate in it – and there’s also a strawberry and cream éclair, but most stuff is made with chocolate. Black forest cake, too… strawberry truffles, chocolate covered fruits, chocolate baked Alaska, the ice cream’s flavour vary… what do you think would be the best for the display?”

“The ice cream flavour?” Minho asked, only slightly aware of what a Baked Alaska was. “What’s the most popular one?”

“I don’t know. It varies a lot among chocolate, strawberry and vanilla,” Jinki moved the bucket around with a soft noise.

“Neapolitan, then,” Minho suggested, half-joking. He heard the bucket clang, though, and when he turned around Jinki was facing his with wide eyes.

“That’s a great idea!” he shouted excitedly. “Why did I never think of that? This is perfect! Topped with a slightly citric meringue, it’ll be perfect! Or maybe raspberry? No, I think fresh raspberries topping it would be the best,” he put the bucket and the mop aside. “I have to try this one.”

“Wait, I have to finish here,” Minho started washing the utensils faster, excited to see Jinki cooking.

Unfortunately, that seemed to definitely damp Jinki’s enthusiasm. His excitement died down visibly, leaving a bittersweet smile on Jinki’s face. “Yeah,” he muttered, going back to moping. “I’d end up just creating more mess anyway. I’d spend the whole night cleaning up.”

That had absolutely no relation with what Minho meant to say! If anything, it was the opposite. Minho became sour as well, upset with the negative atmosphere set in the kitchen. What would make Jinki happy at the moment? Probably bake something successfully, so to null the previous disaster. They shouldn’t stay in the kitchen any longer, though; Minho’s mother had probably finished cooking dinner already and was probably extremely worried…

Enlightenment hit our protagonist.

“Jinki sshi,” he put down the last clean bowl, grinning to himself. “Where do you live?”

“Almost out of town, in my family’s house,” Jinki answered, apparently almost finished with the mop as well. “But the way isn’t very dangerous even at night. The buses I get are really packed.”

“We weren’t able to properly discuss the Valentine’s Day plans,” Minho pointed out, surprisingly quick-witted. “Would you like to stop by my place?”

When Minho turned around, he found Jinki with his chin leant on the back of his hands, holding the mop down with a thoughtful expression.

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” he asked bashfully, biting softly his lower lip.

“It’d be a pleasure. It’s just my mother and I anyway,” Minho brushed it off. “My mother is always saying that it’s a waste of her food if there’s only me to eat it. So, if you want to…”

For a moment that felt excessively long, Jinki seemed to ponder about it. Then, finally, with a shy smile, he nodded. “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve never visited a friend’s house.”

Minho frowned. “Seriously?” Jinki nodded, resuming the lasts of his moping task. “Not even Jonghyun sshi’s?”

“Jonghyun lives alone. It’s hard for him to have people over,” he explained, putting the mop aside and analyzing the floor. “I think I’m done. Am I done? It’s hard to tell.”

“I’d say you’re done, so you’re done,” Minho grinned cheekily as Jinki made a face at him. “You know I’m right.”

“Okay, then, why don’t you do a favor to your favorite senior and put this,” Jinki gave him the mop and the bucket. “In its rightful place? You can throw the water on the drain right beside the cupboard. Pretty please?”

“How did you guess you’re my favorite senior?” Minho feigned innocence, accepting the quest. “Jonghyun sshi told you, didn’t he?”

“Stop joking around!” Jinki tried to sound angry, and failed soundly, for his cheeks were tinted pink and he was chuckling a lot. Minho couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for anything. If only all his days were like that…

It was night outside, darker than night usually is. Halfway into the path to Minho’s home, they unfortunately found out that what had been darkening the night was rain clouds, and, when they finally got past the front door of Minho’s rather small, old house, both were soaked to their bones. Surprisingly, Minho’s mother had already a towel with her when she answered the door.

“Oh, hello! Welcome,” she was surprised to see someone else with the one she had been expected. “Minho, you really have to start carrying an umbrella with you.”

“I shall,” Minho brushed it off, snatching the towel from his mother’s hand and giving it to Jinki, who thanked him quietly. “This is Lee Jinki. He’s the pâtissier in charge of the shop I work at.”

“I see. Thank you for always taking care of Minho, Jinki sshi,” she bowed politely, and Jinki bowed as well, accidentally sending some water droplets flying onto the carpet. He was about to apologize, but she brushed it off. “I apologize for having a child so careless that he won’t even carry an umbrella with him.”

“Mom, can you please bring a towel for your careless son?” Minho smiled idiotically at her. “Unless you want me to spill water and carelessness all over the carpet.”

“Stay put. You may come in, Jinki sshi,” she headed to her bedroom, where the towels were usually stored. Jinki stepped forward hesitantly, drying his hair thoroughly before moving the towel to his arms. Minho giggled. Jinki’s hair was completely messy.

“What?” Jinki blinked, confused at the laughter.

“Come here,” the older one obeyed, and Minho pulled him closer to fix the odd strands that were sticking out. Even after going through such cold rain, Jinki’s body still emanated pleasant warmth, and having him close was at the same time unnerving and comfortable for Minho.

Minho’s mother had cooked pork stew and baked potatoes, and Jinki fell in love with the food. He complimented everything, even the plain white rice, and ate with great enjoyment, which gave Minho’s mother a reason to stuff him to the brim with her cooking.

“You can come every day you want, Jinki,” Minho had a feeling his mother loved Jinki already. “Minho rarely brings friends over, it’s a shame.”

“I only bring my favorite people here,” Minho smiled suggestively. Jinki’s smile was like a newborn star.

“I’ll do my best to be your favorite forever,” he said before eating some more of the stew.

Minho wanted to say that Jinki didn’t have to do anything for that, but remained silent.

The real purpose of his invitation, of course, was not having Jinki to taste his mother’s cooking, or even planning the Valentine’s work either. Minho had an elaborate plan that he discussed with his mother while grabbing some tea for Jinki and himself, and everything was set to work precisely. They had gone through an improvised list of seven treats when Minho’s mother put the plan to work.

“Son, are you busy?” she asked from the kitchen. Minho and Jinki exchanged looks.

“Kind of,” Minho said hesitantly. “Do you need help?”

“I want to bake a cake,” she said, and Minho heard the rustle of bowls being sorted out. “It’s okay if you’re too busy.”

Minho saw Jinki’s eye light up immediately. Great. “I can help,” Minho offered nonchalant. “Only if you let Jinki help too.”

“Come here, then,” she said simply, fetching the ingredients from the fridge.

“Really?” Jinki was smiling. “We’re going to bake a cake together? Is it really okay if I help?”

“Why not?” Minho got up, satisfied with the perfect result. Jinki sure was easy to read… “We’d be honored for having a professional pâtissier baking with us.”

“Do you have fun flattering me?” Jinki hit Minho’s shoulder friendly, turning pink and bashful.

“Yes. Lots of it,” Minho confessed, guiding Jinki to the kitchen nonchalantly. His mother had already set up everything, and exchanged a knowing grin with Minho that went unnoticed by Jinki.

“Do you boys have suggestions for the cake?” she asked kindly, putting on an apron and handing an identical one to Jinki. Minho remained apronless, but he didn’t mind. “I wanted to make something with chocolate.”

“There’s an idea my aunt gave me,” Jinki was hesitant in saying it, but anyone could see he was quite excited. “She used to make spongy éclairs and, rather than filling it with cream, she filled it with cookies and poured chocolate sauce over it. I was planning to make this with a cake for the shop’s Valentine’s event.”

“Sounds heavenly,” Minho’s mother supported the idea with a happy sigh. “It feels like ages since I last ate chocolate. If only Minho liked sweets a little bit more…”

“You don’t like sweets?” Jinki turned to Minho with eyes wide.

“I do! I just don’t have the habit to eat it often,” Minho corrected his mother promptly.

“It’d be an absurd if you worked at a pastry parlor and didn’t even like sweets,” Jinki mumbled in a censoring tone. “What would you work for then?”

“For my favorite sunbae, of course,” Minho batted his eyelashes comically, which earned him some laughter from Jinki and a ‘stop being disgusting!’ and a whack on the head from his mother.

While they made the cake, both Minho and his mother did their best to let Jinki take the lead, which ended up happening naturally. Whenever Jinki noticed he was giving the orders, he’d try to step down and ask them for guidance, but there was no fixing of the fact that he knew ten times more about desserts than the Choi family, so he really did end up in charge. He taught Minho how to boil a perfect dark chocolate sauce (almost dropping the wooden spoon twice, but being saved by Minho all the times) and beat the cake mix into the exact ideal consistency (spilling some of it around, yes, but Minho’s mother dismissed his apologies with a, “my dear, I do so much worse than this everyday”), as well as how to shape chocolate shavings into roses, which pleased Minho’s mother greatly. The kitchen ended up a bit messy, Jinki ended up with a three burnt fingers and the cake turned out to be absolutely marvelous.

“Fantastic,” Minho’s mother complimented, blissful. “Wait, I need to take a picture.”

She ran for the camera, stored in a cupboard in the living room, and Minho seized the moment to step closer to Jinki and put his hand on his shoulder casually.

“Was this the one you were trying to bake back there?” he asked. Jinki nodded, smiling brightly.

“It turned out exactly how I wanted it to,” his eyes were sparkling. “I wonder if it tastes good? I think I might have used too much flour in the dough.”

“You worry too much,” Minho pulled his left cheek jokingly. “Before, you were worrying about not being able to bake it, were you not? You were acting really depressed. Well, you did it now.”

“Stop. I wouldn’t have been able to bake it if you hadn’t helped me,” Jinki corrected, batting Minho’s hand away. “As a pâtissier, I’m a laughingstock. I can’t do anything by myself.”

“Jinki sshi,” Minho crossed his arms, shaking his head. “If a guy driving a giant robot built an entire city in some months, who would you give the credit to? The guy or the robot?”

Jinki frowned, turning his head to face Minho slowly as if Minho’s words were too weird for the reality he lived in. He frowned some more. “What do you mean?”

“Finally found the batteries, boys,” Minho’s mother invaded the kitchen at that crucial moment, camera in hands, shattering Jinki’s line of thought. “Stand right there, please? Then we can eat it all, it doesn’t need to survive to see the morning of tomorrow.”

The cake did survive to see the morning of tomorrow, but by a very thin advantage. It was so, so late at night and they were so full that convincing Jinki to stay over wasn’t all that hard. No, actually, it was. Rather hard, but the Choi family succeeded once again.

“I’m really sorry for intruding like this,” Jinki bowed shyly, and Minho didn’t even bother to brush it off, because the simple possibility of Minho being bothered by that was stupidity. Jinki, his favorite senior and love interest Lee Jinki, was set to sleep in his bedroom, dressed in his pajamas. What else could Minho want? Well, sleep beside him, of course, but Minho knew his limits well.

“What problem? I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Minho shrugged, feigning ignorance, and a small smile curved Jinki’s lips upwards.

“Should we carry on with the list?” Jinki suggested, but Minho saw Youngsun’s book sticking out from the bag where Jinki’s uniform was.

“I have to help my mother with the extra mattress, but I’ll be back in a second,” he said. “If you want to add something meanwhile, we can discuss it when I get back.”

“Okay,” Jinki agreed softly, the list in his hands. “Do you want some help?”

“We’re okay. You must be tired from today,” Minho dismissed the offer, leaving the room for a moment.

His mother was already halfway done with readying the extra mattress, but Minho offered a hand anyway, and she gladly accepted it. Minho was used to helping his mother on even the simplest tasks; all he ever remembered of his father was a nostalgic, distorted silhouette, so his mother had only had him to depend on for a long time.

“It’s inspiring to see how well you and Jinki get along,” she commented with a friendly smile, rising the mattress suddenly and hitting Minho’s nose with it. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Warn me, will you,” Minho joked, also getting on his feet. “How’s Jinki sshi to you? I have a feeling you liked him.”

“It’d be great to have him as a family member, if you know what I mean,” she grinned mischievously. Minho felt incredibly embarrassing.

“You’re so indiscreet,” he whined, causing her to laugh.

“You’re way too shy. Why aren’t you two in first name basis yet? It’s been over a month since you started working there, you know,” she complained, and Minho didn’t have time to answer, for they went into Jinki’s listening range. “Be careful Minho, you’re going to—I told you you were going to hit your hand.”

“You didn’t say that!” they carefully laid the mattress on Minho’s bedroom floor with a soft puff. When Minho sought Jinki in the room, he found him standing against a corner, Youngsun’s book in his hand. “Jinki sshi, you can sit down! In fact I think you can lie down on the bed, I take the floor.”

“Huh? Are you sure?” Jinki was very surprised. “I’m completely okay with sleeping on the floor!”

“It’s been some time I don’t sleep on the floor, it feels nostalgic,” Minho made a gesture to calm him down. Minho’s mother had left the room without another word, closing the door behind her.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Jinki said before climbing on the bed, the book snuggled against his chest. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“I don’t mind if you do. I’m having fun,” Minho said sincerely, leaning his cheek on the piece of mattress just beside Jinki’s thigh. “Feel free to take advantage of me anytime.”

“Oh, you,” Jinki laughed, going back to his reading. Minho didn’t say anything else either; just kept staring.

They fell in a comfortable silence, and Minho didn’t feel any need to talk, or move, or think; he just closed his eyes and let himself enjoy being there, basking in the memories of a very good day. He felt the familiar tiredness from being in the kitchen make his bones heavy as sandbags, but it was lots weaker than it used to be. Was it because the kitchen’s reality was wearing off? He opened his eyes, a twinge of worry souring the moment. Would the shop be okay? It’d be impossible for Jinki to keep up with the orders if the kitchen stopped helping him. It’d be impossible for anyone.

“About the giant robot thing,” Jinki softly broke the silence in a quiet voice. “Who would you give the credit to?”

“The driver, of course,” Minho didn’t bat an eyelash. “Nothing would have happened without him. The giant robot would have never even moved.”

“But if it weren’t for the robot, the driver would have never been able to build the city on his own,” Jinki argued back, not raising his eyes from the book.

“He would,” Minho stated firmly. “It’d just be more troublesome, and it’d take more time. But he’d know what to do, so he’d be able to do it. Alone, or even if just other people helped him. There’d be no real need for the robot, it’d be just handy.”

Jinki chuckled amusedly, being accidentally adorable. “This conversation is absurd.”

So Minho decided to make it a bit more absurd. “I like you.”

Small silence. “A lot.”

“Why do you say stuff like that?” Jinki hit Minho’s head with the corner of the book, laughing uncontrollably. Or was he giggling rather violently? It was impossible to tell. Even though Jinki was easy to read, Minho was not sure he understood it well.

“Don’t think I’m joking,” Minho said with a hint of sulking. “I’m serious.”

“That’s why it’s embarrassing,” Jinki threw back, rolling over his stomach so he’d be facing Minho from very close. That was bad. That was bad, but it was good, in a way. “But I…” he could see Jinki’s cheeks turn pink in such great detail. “I’m really grateful for this. Thank you, Minho.”

It tasted like bittersweet disappointment for Minho.

“You’re welcome,” he said simply, and it was the last thing he said before, after some hours of silence, falling asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The days that preceded Valentine’s day were extremely rushed and stressful for everyone. Cheolyong and Dongwoon had a quarrel and refused to talk to each other, even though they shared a task; Yoseob was suffering from a lot of pressure for being the only one designing the posters and looked constantly on the verge of crying; Kibum had accidentally hammered a nail into his own hand while building the display with Jonghyun; and Jinki was a pile of nerves.

“No, no, it’s impossible,” he paced around in despair, going from the counter to the sink, to the other counter, then back. Sitting on stools, Minho watched the scene with worry, and Jonghyun watched the scene with annoyance. “We can’t have this amount of treats included in the special offer. It’s impossible.”

“It’s _not_ impossible, Jinki, would you please get this into your head?” Jonghyun was about to start screaming at him. “You’ll have an _assistant_ , and it’s not like we’re a hell of a big shop either. How many people do you think we’ll have here? Get yourself together, for God’s sake.”

“Enough people to multiply our usual influx by five or six,” Jinki scratched his hands nervously, and Jonghyun rolled his eyes. “What will we do if something goes wrong?”

“We’ll do what we always do when something goes wrong,” Jonghyun slammed the list on the counter, causing Minho and Jinki to flinch. “We’ll get our chins up, fix everything and do our bloody job. Fifteen treats, Jinki, and unless you have a valid argument to contest this decision, we’re done with this.”

And he strode out of the kitchen, leaving Minho and Jinki in the dark for a minute or so as the lamp had to guide him.

Minho was calm, but worried about his colleagues; during the working hours, they seemed fine (well, Kibum was still injured, but acted as if it was nothing), but as soon as those were over, it showed how worn out and grumpy they were. Kibum, Cheolyong and Dongwoon did as little talking as they could, so Minho settled to chat with Yoseob after work, since he looked like he was in need for some venting out. He indeed did.

“It feels like I can’t do well in anything,” he muttered sadly, dark circles formed under his eyes. “Whether it’s university or work, I’m just so behind.”

“I’m sure it’s not like this. Kibum sshi told me you study art,” Minho said as friendly as he could.

“It doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” Yoseob said.

“It means you’re better at it than anyone here,” Minho pointed out.

“Well, Cheolyong is good at it too. He studies architecture,” Yoseob replied, and Minho was surprised to hear that. Wasn’t Cheolyong around his age? “But you know what, I think I’m a bit better than him. You’re right.”

“See?” Minho smiled. “By the way, do you know why Cheolyong sshi and Dongwoon sshi aren’t speaking to each other?”

“Quarrel. Not very serious, though, but they’re so stubborn,” Yoseob rolled his eyes. “Jealousy issues again, I suppose. Cheolyong first nature is to flirt with everyone, and it’s hard for Dongwoon to deal with it sometimes. I wish those two would get this worked out at once. But well, they haven’t been dating for long.”

Minho blinked, letting the information sink in. “Cheolyong sshi and Dongwoon sshi date each other?”

“… yes…” Yoseob also blinked, confused. “… you didn’t notice that, did you.”

“I didn’t,” Minho confessed, slightly embarrassed.

Dating. Dating someone was something that worked through mysterious ways, at least for Minho, as there were so many details he couldn’t understand. It was way more complex than friendship, perhaps more complex than family bonds, hard to maintain and conciliate with other activities. It was more than merely being with a loved one – it was sort of pact, full of obligations and benefits divided in degrees. Even though Minho had crushed on uncountable people in the past years of his life, he had never dated anyone, and wondered if it was a good idea to try, someday.

It was no time to think about dating, however, even considering the season. He had to focus on making sure nothing would go terribly wrong, and try to calm Jinki down.

On Valentine’s day, he skipped school. He had promised to an anxious Jinki that he’d be in the kitchen for the whole day, and would receive extra for that, with the bonus of staying by Jinki’s side from morning to evening. Minho’s enthusiasm at liking Jinki as much as he could hadn’t been damped by the let-down of some days before; if anything, Jinki’s gratefulness had fired him up even more. He had the goal to make Jinki like him just as much as he liked him, and he’d do everything he could to achieve it.

It was weird, to arrive at the shop so early at morning; even though it was still closed, there were a lot of people inside, moving around frankly. Minho went in with his head lowered, intimidated and trying not to be noticed, making his way to the kitchen. Jonghyun, however, saw him.

“Good morning, Minho! You’re here just on time,” he greeted jovially. “Jinki might be here already, I heard movement in the kitchen, but it was still dark when I looked into there. Go search for him, please? We open in fifteen minutes,” and, with this, he took off from behind the counter to help two guys to hang a string of roses on the ceiling. That decoration was indeed flashy…

Minho could tell there was something wrong as soon as he opened the door. Something was weird with the usual darkness; it looked shallower, and Minho had a bad feeling about that. The lamp never came. Daringly, Minho stepped forward.

Nothing happened. Minho just stayed there. The door closed behind him quietly and Minho stepped forward again. Nothing. He started to walk errantly around the kitchen, trying to put a finger on what was so weird about the place – besides the fact he hadn’t stepped into any residual memory. It was when he dodged the silhouette of a counter that he noticed. He could see the shape of things faintly, like one would after their eyes got used to the darkness. It was quite obvious – the reality had worn off completely.

“Jinki sshi,” Minho called, and his voice echoed austerely in the dark room. “Jinki sshi, I’m here.”

“Minho!” he heard a voice call from not so far and a wooden spoon fall to the floor. “Don’t move! I think I’m seeing you. I can’t find the switch at all.”

Minho could see a person moving towards him in the darkness and waited patiently, jumping a little when two hands started groping his chest for confirmation. He batted the hands away with a laugh, crossing his arms in front of his body.

“So it is you,” Jinki was laughing as well. “Help me to find the switch, please. Where’s your hand? Is this your hand?”

“It might be,” Minho joked as he felt Jinki’s hand around his wrist.

“Great then, let’s find the switch,” Jinki pulled Minho’s arm softly, and they walked in the direction they believed the wall would be, hand in hand. “We’ll end up getting used to hold hands whenever we work together.”

“I’m not complaining,” Minho was quick to add, grinning to himself.

“You’re not, because you have no shame,” was what Jinki jokingly accused.

Some minutes later, Minho found something that was not the switch, but a weird metallic baton. He he pulled it down, the kitchen was invaded with light and thick clouds of dust. Minho had, somehow, found the windows.

“Oh! Nice job,” Jinki congratulated him with a smile that was worth millions. “It’ll be easier now. So we have,” he looked at the oversized watch he had around his wrist. “Eight minutes to turn the lights on, clean the place and start working. We don’t have the kitchen’s help now, so we might have to get some stuff from the pantry before starting, and there’re some places we definitely must clean because they’ve been out of use for over an year,” Jinki clasped his hands together. “Let’s get going then.”

“You sound so calm,” Minho commented, impressed with Jinki’s sudden transformation.

“Yep. I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm,” Jinki nodded vigorously, walking away to find the switch. “Panic has never led anyone anywhere.”

Minho knew he had to keep an eye on Jinki for that weird mood of his. While he told himself that, Jonghyun’s head suddenly popped out besides his own.

“It wore off, did it not? Damn it,” Jonghyun spoke, and Minho jumped in great startle. Jonghyun laughed. Minho hadn’t noticed that the little window through which the waiters made their orders was right there beside him. “How’s Jinki? Is he all good?”

“He’s pretty calm,” Minho said hesitantly. “I’m worried. Are we going to be fine?”

“I’ve phoned an acquaintance and he’s on his way to help you two,” Jonghyun communicated. “He’s a pâtissier in training as well, but he’s the son of a rival shop’s owner,” Jonghyun smirked. “I have a feeling I might have started some ruckus, but he was the one to get all excited about it. Not my fault if the boy idolizes Jinki.”

“Is Jinki sshi well-known?” Minho asked, interested in the situation.

“Not really. His family is. Jinki’s too young to be well known,” Jonghyun brushed it off. “The boy’ll be here in a minute. Where’s Jinki? JINKI!”

“Just a second!” the lights of a third of the kitchen went on, then off. Suddenly, all the lights went on. “Okay, problem solved,” Jinki went out from behind a refrigerator, cleaning his hands on his apron while approaching them. “What is it?”

“Taemin’s coming to help you,” Jonghyun said.

“Taemin? But he’s still in school,” Jinki frowned. Minho wondered if Jinki knew that Minho himself was still in school as well. “You can’t make him skip school.”

“Oh, please. I didn’t make him do a thing, he was the one all happy for getting to spend Valentine’s working with you,” Jonghyun rolled his eyes. “He’s going to get here anytime, but hurry up to clean this up anyway. I’ll help you guys out as soon as our hyungs stop hanging stuff _upside down_ here,” Jonghyun emphasized, and Minho heard a guy go ‘oops’ and a bunch of other guys laugh. “We open in five.”

Minho and Jinki lost not a second. In its normal form and properly lit, the kitchen was surprisingly small; not too small, properly vast, but still nothing compared to the previous endless reality. Almost half of the space was covered in dust, thick dust that stained their fingers black at first touch, and Jinki brought all the cleaning equipment they had out to finish the task. Jinki was still weirdly calm, cleaning with some sort of peaceful concentration, and Minho wondered if the older man was really okay. When they were almost finished, there was a knock on the door, and Jonghyun went in, followed by an unknown but cute boy.

“You two, come here,” Jonghyun called, and Minho and Jinki momentarily paused their activities to go great the newcomer. “Taemin’s here. Minho, this is Lee Taemin, the son of the enemy,” the boy called Taemin smiled and bowed politely. “Taemin, this is Choi Minho, a new employer of ours. He’s actually a waiter, but he’s helping out here today.”

“Nice to meet you,” Minho said, bowing as well.

“And you know Jinki,” Jonghyun didn’t even try.

“How have you been doing?” Jinki smiled at the boy. “I hope you won’t get into trouble for helping us today.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” the boy said boldly.

“You should, though,” Jinki crossed his arms and shook his head censoringly. “Well, Minho and I are cleaning up for now, you can get changed while we finish.”

“No, I’ll help. I brought the common apron today,” Taemin pulled a kitchen apron, almost identical to the one Minho was wearing over his usual uniform. He then turned to Minho and smiled again, but Minho for some reason felt uncomfortable. “Let’s give our best together!”

“Yes, sure,” Minho smiled back, hiding his uneasiness.

And so the day went on. They weren’t able to finish cleaning before opening time, and had to rush like never to get things ready when the first order came in; from that on, the rushing never stopped. Taemin quickly proved himself to be much more talented and quicker at cooking than Minho, and the latter was honestly jealous, specially after he learned Taemin was merely sixteen years old. Jinki was still weirdly calm, even after he almost dropped a bowl full of half-stirred brownie dough, luckily caught in time by Minho, and used one accidental extra cup of sugar in his soon-to-be fondant, fixed by Taemin, and Minho’s worry was fading out, but was still there.

There was something else, too. Taemin. For some reason, maybe out of paranoia or maybe out of just misunderstanding things, it seemed to Minho that Taemin didn’t like him very much, or was just annoyed at having to give Minho directions all the time. It added a lot to Minho’s psychological tiredness, and it made him feel guilty as well, for he thought he was probably being too amateur-ish to please a member of pastry-making royalty. Consequently, he felt ashamed, and could do nothing about it but to help Jinki with all he had, not letting he drop a single spoon, doing everything he told him to do with exemplar obedience, cleaning up his counter to make his work easier, as well as cleaning up Taemin’s. And even though the younger one would thank him properly, Minho still felt uncomfortable. It was a cycle.

“Stir it until it’s firm, and be careful not to do it too much or it’ll turn too soft,” Jinki instructed, not looking up from the complex soda he was mixing. He was about to add the cherry syrup when Minho took it from his hands and replaced it with the right one, the cranberry one. Jinki gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“A Neapolitan baked Alaska and a blueberry and vanilla muffin,” a waiter requested from the small window.

“Right away!” Jinki shouted in response. “Minho—ah, you’re taking care of the meringue. Taemin, can you please get them? The blueberry and vanilla ones are on the yellow plate.”

Taemin did it in a flash, as if he had been doing that for his whole life. And he probably had, Minho noticed with awe, focused enough to hold push an egg on the verge of falling back onto the counter and not stop stirring the meringue while doing so. There was no way for him to win against someone like that, so he admit his status as the least useful one and just did his best.

The morning was a hazy, rushed torture. When the shift went to an end and the shop was closed for the usual one hour, all Minho wanted to do was rest, and this was the one thing he could _not_ do.

“Quick, you all have to help us with the decoration,” Jonghyun called not a second after the shop closed its doors. “Minho, help Kibum to get the stuff in the staff room. Jinki, come take this off with me.”

“I’ll help!” Taemin offered, joining team Jonghyun, as Minho left for the staff room. So Kibum was already there? Minho immediately found his colleague kneeling beside a box, inspecting it carefully.

“Good afternoon, Kibum sshi,” he greeted, accidentally startling Kibum, who turned around with a yelp. Minho tried to hold back a chuckle, but was not able to. “Sorry.”

“Good Lord. Good afternoon, Minho,” Kibum clutched his chest, still recovering. “Did you come here to help me? ‘Cause I need a hand here.”

“Yes, I’m here to help,” Minho confirmed, kneeling beside the box as well. There were ribbons, pieces of pure white georgette, lace table cloths, flowers made of fabric, all in light and pleasant pastel colors. Minho was impressed. It seemed pretty tasteful and discreet, and he never thought Cheolyong and Dongwoon would have this kind of artistic sensibility. “This looks really good.”

“Does it not? They’re architecture students, after all. Not like this actually means something,” Kibum brushed it off, and Minho laughed. “You have flour all over you cheeks, did you know?”

“I do?” Minho quickly cleaned it with his apron. “I’ve been helping on the kitchen since morning.”

“Helping Jinki?” Kibum asked casually, scrutinizing a bunch of ribbons cautiously.

“Mm,” Minho nodded. “I’m not really helpful at things like that, but I’m doing my best.” He pulled one of the table cloths from the box. “Are these going to replace the usual ones?”

“Yes,” Kibum replied simply. After a pause, he added, “I like you.”

Minho blinked. He then frowned. He then frowned some more, unsure if he had heard it right or not, and unsure if he should ask Kibum to confirm it or not. He then looked at Kibum.

“… you like me?” he asked, somewhat dumbly. Kibum was facing the box and blushing.

“I know you like Jinki at the moment,” Kibum said, face deeply red. “And I don’t intend to chase you or anything. It’s just—it’s Valentine’s day and I thought I should let you know.”

Minho nodded, letting the information sink in. “Thank you, Kibum sshi,” he smiled softly. “I like you a lot too.”

“Not as much as you like Jinki,” Kibum grumpily pointed out.

“True,” Minho laughed, shrugging.

Kibum clicked his tongue. “Let’s take this outside before Jonghyun has a mental breakdown.”

It was pure frenzy. Dongwoon and Cheolyong were still not talking to each other properly, treating each other with blizzardy coldness, and Yoseob looked more stressed out than ever; Jonghyun seemed to be thinking faster than his limbs could move, Kibum was apparently grumpy and Minho was slightly confused for being randomly confessed to. Jinki and Taemin, however, were perfectly calm, having fun at arranging the treats on the elaborated display, Taemin helping Jinki when he almost dropped a plate full of small cups of mousse. Minho felt useless once again. He wished he could help Jinki a bit more efficiently…

“Okay, we’re all set here. Off to the kitchen, the three of you,” the electric Jonghyun commanded, and the kitchen trio faithfully obeyed, taking off without a second thought.

“He’s so out of himself,” Jinki chuckled. “Jonghyun get’s overexcited at events like this one.”

“He seems like the type,” Minho confessed, smiling as he organized the flour bags. “But you’re a lot calmer than you have been during last week.”

“It’s because it’s useless to get worked up at times like these,” Jinki said maturely, washing bowls and whiskers. He then chuckled to himself. “I said a great thing, didn’t I? I’m actually really nervous. I feel like my hands aren’t really mine right now.”

Minho blinked, letting out a small laugh. “Is it so? You look okay.”

“It’s because, when I’m about to freak out, I think, ‘I can’t let everything for Minho to do’ and get calm again,” Jinki confessed with an embarrassed expression.

“Oh,” Minho laughed again. “Am I that helpless with pastries?”

“You’re too helpful! You look so reliable when you’re following my instructions,” Jinki answered in an accusing voice. “I have to be the reliable one, so it’s unfair.”

Minho’s heart swelled with warm happiness. He had to bit his lip to stop himself from giggling in a rather silly way. “Then do your best not to lose, okay?”

“Oh, I will,” Jinki made his best serious face, showing he was ready for the match. “You’ll be calling me ‘hyung’ in no time.”

“Jinki hyung,” Taemin was back from the storage room with some bags of sugar. “Is this enough?”

“Yes! Thank you, Minnie,” Jinki went back to his previous activity, and Taemin once again shot Minho a look that made the older one uneasy. “Oh yes, I have to talk to Jonghyun about something. Minho, would you please?” Minho immediately took the washing cloth from his hand and started washing. “Thank you.”

“So reliable, right?” Minho teased him with a smug grin.

“Wait and see, you newcomer,” Jinki scoffed, pointing a threatening finger at Minho’s face. He then went out.

Heavy and uncomfortable silence fell over Minho and Taemin, who did nothing but quickly glance at each other and then look back to whatever they had been doing. At a certain point, Taemin broke the silence.

“For how long have you known hyung?” he asked casually.

“Not long,” Minho simply said, not feeling like he should mention the thing from six years before. “You’ve known him for a really long time, isn’t it so?”

“Since I was eight,” Taemin answered, cleaning the counter with swift, efficient movements. “We met at school.”

“Mm,” Minho nodded. “It’s nice that both of you decided to be the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” was his answer as he organized the plated with the done treats over the third counter. That was the last thing he said. Minho almost sighed in relief when Jinki returned.

Afternoon shift began, and Minho was upset for being unable to see the decoration properly finished. The hush, however, didn’t feel as bad, since he could now tease Jinki about his comment from earlier, and be the part of a competition for the most reliable person in the kitchen, and this lightened up the mood in the kitchen severely. They were still multitasking, yes, and Minho still had to watch out for both he and Jinki, yes, but having that kind of relationship with Jinki made everything much more fun to Minho, to the point he barely felt tired.

“Minho,” after one third or so of the shift gone, Jonghyun’s head popped up at the small window. “There are regulars of yours here. Is your uniform clean? Let’s switch.”

“Huh?” Minho blinked. He wanted to question that but decided against it barely before the words rolled off his tongue. The customers were definitely priority, no matter how bad he wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with Jinki. He quickly checked his clothes. “It’s clean.”

“Then come, I’m going in,” and he disappeared. Minho quickly untied his apron and handed it to Jonghyun as the older one stormed into the kitchen and told him to hurry up and go outside. Minho didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye to Jinki and Taemin. Well, it couldn’t be helped…

He easily found his regulars at a table; four high school students, all girls, chatting happily. As he greeted them and asked them for their orders, he discreetly admired the decoration. It definitely matched the shop’s atmosphere, making it even more romantic, and the display! Kibum and Jonghyun had definitely made a great job. Valentine’s Palace stood gloriously, in baby pink and washed-out golden, decorated with the yummiest sweets possibly, results of Minho and Jinki’s hard work. He held back a grin, taking notes as the girls chose their treats.

“I can’t believe we’re all single on Valentine’s again,” one of them commented with the girl sitting across her while the other two picked drinks. “I always end up eating sweets with you guys. Will I ever have a real date on Valentine’s?”

“Minho oppa, do you have a date?” the other girl asked Minho, and the girls previously choosing their drinks halted still, waiting for Minho’s answer.

“No,” he said, smiling charmingly. “My date is work this year. Work’s indeed a very charming lady.”

The girls giggled. “You should date us for next year’s valentine’s,” the first girl joked. “I’m sure I’m nicer to talk to than work.”

“Who knows? Work’s very witty too,” he winked, and they giggled again. “But I’ll try to leave my schedule open for next year, then.”

“Please do,” the girl seating the nearest to Minho said. “And it’ll be two grape sodas.”

He added that to the order, and headed to the small window to transmit the order to the kitchen staff.

“A strawberry milkshake, a Neapolitan baked Alaska and two grape sodas,” he said, surprised for being able to see every inch of the kitchen’s interior from there at once. In the past, all one could have seen would be darkness.

“Right away! Since you’re relying on me this time,” Minho heard Jinki say, and saw the older shoot him a playful look.

“Tsk. I could be relying on Taemin sshi instead,” Minho said. “He looks much more reliable than you.”

“Oh, come on! I’m reliable,” the words had barely left his lips and the baked Alaska went flying from his hands. Taemin managed to catch it just in time. “… thank you, Minnie.”

Minho covered his mouth with his hand in order not to laugh out loud. In response, Jinki merely clicked his tongue and started preparing the milkshake.

Just like the decoration had added a more romantic look to the shop, Minho’s colleagues too seemed to have re-bloomed. Yoseob seemed to be up on his feet again, finally, and he and Cheolyong were joking around two male customers that were apparently their acquaintances. Kibum’s was entertaining an elder couple who seemed to be enjoying themselves greatly, and Dongwoon was being respectably quick at serving; Minho also noticed there was a man he didn’t know working as a cashier. It made him proud for everyone’s hard work. He then noticed Dongwoon approaching.

“You and Cheolyong sshi did a great job with the decoration,” he commented, unsure if that was the appropriated thing to say at the moment, but saying it anyway. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you,” Dongwoon sighed sadly. “Cheolyong and I did our best, I suppose.”

Minho noticed that he had been staring at Cheolyong while talking; Cheolyong who was then talking to a bunch of elementary school students and causing lots of blushing and giggling. Minho bit his lip. “You two are still fighting?”

“Something like that,” it was like Dongwoon’s happy peel was coming off and the gloomy Dongwoon from the previous week could be seen under that. “I don’t know what to do. Do you think I come off as possessive?”

“Not at all,” Minho answered sincerely.

Dongwoon sighed. “But maybe I _am_ too possessive…” then, turning to the small window. “A blue Hawaii soda and two raspberry lemonades.”

“Right away! And Minho,” Jinki called, Minho’s order in hands. “Here it is.”

“How quick and reliable,” Minho joked, organizing the order on his tray. “Thank you, Jinki sshi.”

“Can I get a ‘hyung’? Hm?” Jinki turned his head nonchalantly, pretending to be above those issues.

“Not yet,” was Minho’s answer before he took off to the display and collected the girl’s cake slices. Calling Jinki hyung… it was something Minho would like to do, but he couldn’t give up on their competition so easily.

As Minho worked and time went by, he could notice the weird tension going on between Cheolyong and Dongwoon. It seemed, at least to Minho, that both of them were tired of ignoring each other, but couldn’t apologize for some reason. Not like Minho would know for sure – it was too complex. Dating was complex. And still… in a way, Minho found that endearing. As much as ignoring a workmate was a bad thing to do, Minho felt that their fight was the kind of fight caused by feelings growing too intense. Perhaps he was being too romantic? He couldn’t tell.

“Here, watermelon and blueberry parfait, Neapolitan baked Alaska. It did become really popular, did it not?” Jinki sighed as he handed the orders to Minho. “It feels like I’m losing again.”

“Do your best to catch up, okay?” Minho joked, and Jinki clicked his tongue.

“When are you going to switch back? Jonghyun is a little hysteric today,” Jinki complained, leaning his cheek on his left hand. “It’s unforgivable to watch you entertain the customers while I’m here being screamed at. And you said you liked me?”

“It can’t be helped, since I’m a waiter,” Minho shrugged. “And my job is, you know—“

“Okay, I got it,” Jinki crossed his arms childishly. “Go, go back to your precious customers. I’ll be delighted to have Jonghyun bossing me around the kitchen.”

“Thank you, hyung,” it escaped his lips, and he didn’t notice it until it was too late. “I mean, Jinki sshi.”

“No, there’s no way back!” Jinki was already back at the counter, but didn’t miss his chance to shout. “It’s ‘hyung’ for you from now on, Minho! Don’t forget it!”

“I forgot it already,” was the last thing Minho said before going back to doing his job and serving the chattering, fashionable couple their treats.

Honestly, after that, Minho wondered if he didn’t like Jinki a bit too much. He felt way too happy after that obviously jocose exchange of words, so happy that he couldn’t stop smiling. He had certainly become an idiot. Though, it’d be nice if Jinki had really been craving for his presence that much…

“Stop grinning like a freak. You’re pissing me off,” Kibum hit him with his notepad, causing next to zero damage, but attracting the desired attention. “Don’t make it any more obvious that Jinki is ahead me.”

“You’re holding a race with him?” Minho asked, unable to stop grinning as required.

“Obviously. This is not technically chasing, I’m merely scoring the facts for or against me,” Kibum shrugged. “I’ll watch out for your changes of heart.”

“Will there be any?” Minho wondered, feeling suddenly airy. Kibum made a face.

“You’re disgusting. I don’t know why I like you,” he said, slapping Minho’s shoulder before taking off to a table with some of his regulars. Minho shook his head, amused by Kibum’s antics. Even though Minho had technically rejected him, he had not given up, which honestly scored some points for Kibum. Of course, Jinki was still miles ahead him, but it’d have been unfair not to count.

The day took its sweet time to be over, and when it did come to an end, Minho was almost too tired to celebrate. He did celebrate, however, and jumped in joy when Jonghyun told them they had done a good job, and then made a face when Jonghyun said they all still had cleaning to do. Cleverly, he volunteered to clean the kitchen, excited to be with Jinki again – only to learn that Jinki was talking to Minho’s colleagues and he’d have to clean the kitchen alone with Taemin.

It was sort of awkward – it was in fact completely awkward – to help the boy and still be too tired to start a chat. Minho now was completely sure Taemin didn’t like him, for reasons that were beyond his individual capacity of guessing, and he didn’t know if he was okay with things being like this.

“Thank you for helping us out today,” was what he managed to say, smiling charmingly. “We’d have been in a pinch if it weren’t for you. You truly saved us.”

“It was nothing,” Taemin brushed it off humbly. “Minho sshi… you like Jinki hyung too, do you not?”

Minho blinked. “Yes…” what was that about? “You too?”

Taemin nodded, and his cheeks turned light pink. “I’ve liked him for a long time,” he admitted, bravely turning around to face Minho. “So that means we’re officially rivals.”

“Rivals?” Minho frowned slightly. Taemin nodded.

“You don’t want to hand him over to me, right?” he asked, and Minho promptly shook his head. “Then we’re rivals. I won’t hold back a single bit, so please fight for him seriously, okay?”

“Um, of course,” so that was the kind of thing Kibum wanted to have with Jinki? It sounded dangerous… but Minho couldn’t help but feel fired up. “I’ll do my best.”

For the first time, Taemin gave Minho a genuine smile, which was adorably shiny, and reached out his hand for a final handshake. With that gesture, Minho and Taemin sealed a friendly, sort-of-official rivalry for Jinki’s heart, a silent battle none of them was ready to lose, and which one of them would win it it’s a whole new tale to be told. Or is it not? When Taemin got ready to go back home and went out to greet Jonghyun, Jinki went in, sending Taemin out briefly.

“Still working there?” he walked till where Minho was cleaning the counter, staring at Minho until he got an answer.

“So much to clean, so little time,” Minho said dramatically. Jinki laughed.

“It’s okay, leave it to me,” he said, opening one the nearest fridge and taking something out of it. “Here, this is for you.”

Minho looked at whatever Jinki was offering him, and saw chocolate. It was a slice of a chocolate fudge cake previously unknown to him, decorated with ganache and little white hearts made of sugar. Minho blinked as his heart thumped vigorously inside his chest.

“Is this Valentine’s chocolate?” Minho asked, his eyes twinkling with hope.

“Is this a necessary question? Just eat it,” Jinki tried to hide his embarrassment with a cheeky answer. “This one is slightly different than it should have been because Jonghyun is a terrible assistant. He never does stuff as I tell him to. Anyway, dig in.”

Upon that command, Minho did nothing but obey, analyzing the treat affectionately before putting a piece of it in his mouth. It was _divine_. It melted perfectly on Minho’s tongue, bittersweet in a perfect balance, and with a unique texture, spongy and soft but somewhat firm. Minho was bewitched by it. No, there was no doubt that Jinki had talent, at least not for Minho, who ate the cake in great joy.

“How is it?” it was a redundant question to say the least, but Jinki looked so eager for the answer that Minho could only be sincere.

“ _Delicious_ ,” he said before shoving another piece of it in his mouth.

“Great! I wrote the recipe down here,” Jinki opened a drawer and pulled a notebook out. It was a simple school notebook, with a plain orange cover. “I’m writing my own recipe book.”

Minho widened his eyes. “Really?!” Jinki nodded excitedly, smiling widely. “That’s really great!”

“Thank you! I decided to do some research in my grandfather’s notebook and start developing my own version of things,” he confessed, scratching his forearm nervously. “From now on, I really want to do stuff my own way. I might not have enough confidence to do it now, but I want to at least try. And you’re the one who made me want this,” he gave Minho a warm smile that made his heart stop. “Thank you.”

That was bad. That was pretty bad. Minho was way too into Jinki. What should he do? He swallowed, trying to calm himself down. “You… you’re welcome.”

“But there’s also something else,” Jinki admitted, swinging on his feet bashfully. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

There was it. “Go on,” Minho encouraged.

“Well, I’m a disaster at handling kitchen utensils and all,” he avoided Minho’s eyes. “I sometimes switch ingredients, and I think I really need help all the time. If that was it, anyone could help me, but… when it’s you who helps me, the pastries end up exactly like I wanted them. At first I thought I was just imagining things,” he chuckled. “But nothing I make with someone else turns out as perfect as when I make it with you.”

At this point, Minho felt like he could suffer a cardiac arrest any given second, for he felt his heart practically trying to break free from his ribcage. That was bad, that was really really bad. That was way too bad.

“So, what I wanted to tell you is,” it was about to come. Minho could barely handle the suspense, could it be, could it really be… “I want you to be my assistant from now on.”

Silence.

Minho blinked.

“… as in, I’d like you to quit being a waiter and become my assistant,” Jinki’s face was suddenly red. “I-I know it’s a selfish wish but… I really need you. It’s not any good if it’s anyone else.”

That was plainly adorable, too adorable for Minho to be able to hold back. Without thinking, he pulled Jinki into a tight, intimate, warm hug, hoping his feeling would convey in that silly gesture. It was too much. He liked Jinki too much.

“It’d be a pleasure,” he said, from the bottom of his heart. “I like you so much.”

Jinki’s arms slowly wrapped themselves around Minho’s back. Ah, the younger man could have died of happiness. “Good. We’ll all be happy now,” Jinki said.

 _I’ll still make you say you like me back_ , Minho wanted to say, but he locked those words inside his chest. It’d definitely be his goal from then on, and he’d not give up until he achieved it. He already liked Jinki too much to give up; there was no way back.

“I better go change,” he released Jinki, stretching his arms. “Thank you for your hard work today. From today on, I’ll rely on you.”

“A-ha! So does that mean I’m Jinki _hyung_ from now on?” Jinki shouted in triumph. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Minho confessed, feigning innocence. “See you tomorrow, Jinki hyung.”

“Bye bye, dongsaeng~!” the older one was definitely over excited about the honorific switch, and that was oddly endearing. “Rest well, okay?”

And, after assuring he would, Minho went out of the kitchen – only to find Jonghyun and Kibum peaking inside with identical grins.

“Ah,” Jonghyun started, voice full of mockery. “I love the smell of rejection in the evening.”

“What?” Minho objected. “I wasn’t rejected!”

“He didn’t tell you he likes you, right?” Kibum shook his head in disapproval. “Tsk tsk. You could do so much better, Minho, and you know that.”

“What happened?” Dongwoon popped into the conversation out of the nowhere. “Jinki sshi rejected Minho sshi?”

“What? Minho was rejected?” Cheolyong did the same, leaning his chin on Dongwoon’s shoulder. Apparently, they had made up. “That’s too bad. Jinki hyung is such a good catch…” a slap. “Ouch! What was that for?!”

“You never learn, do you?” Dongwoon said menacingly.

“What’s going on? What’s this commotion for?” Yoseob arose from the sheer nowhere.

“Minho was rejected,” Kibum said.

“I wasn’t rejected!” Minho defended himself.

“What a pity,” Yoseob shook his head. “It’s okay, Minho, I understand you.”

“Also, someone remind me to hire someone soon to fill Minho’s spot as a waiter,” Jonghyun asked, massaging his temples. “We hire someone new every month, it drives me crazy. I don’t know what I’ll do if Yoseob decides to quit again.”

“Ah, speaking of reminding,” Minho was enlightened with a memory and turned to talk to Jonghyun. “Jinki hyung recently received a message from Lee Youngsun sshi. He told you not to forget what he said that day.”

Jonghyun frowned. “Which day?”

Minho shrugged.

“You have to tell me which day it was!” Jonghyun shouted. “He said a lot of stuff to me, you know!”

“What are you people doing here?” Jinki emerged from the kitchen, eyeing them with amusement.

“Jinki hyung! Is it truth that you—“ Cheolyong started, but Dongwoon managed to shut him up with a well-aimed kick on his shins.

“We’re about to go home, are we not?” Dongwoon said politely.

“Yoseob, there’s someone looking for you outside,” Kibum, who had apparently gone away, was now coming back from the shop’s front door.

Yoseob had vanished.

Amidst Jonghyun’s demands of details on which day he was supposed to remember, Dongwoon’s and Cheolyong’s newly sparkled argument and Kibum’s calls for Yoseob, Minho turned to Jinki and, with a grin, said, “Do you want to have dinner at my house? My mother’s been nagging me to take you there again.”

“It’ll be a pleasure!” Jinki sincerely said, smiling his shiniest smile, and making Minho like him even more. “Can we make a dessert together again?”

“Of course,” Minho assured him, making a bold movement and reaching out to hold his hand. Instead of pulling out or just laughing, Jinki silently let Minho lace their fingers together, a shy smile on his lips. Minho squeezed his hand softly. “As many times as you want to.”


End file.
